Life is a Circle
by Llandaryn
Summary: Every story starts somewhere, and Kail's Story starts with her mother, Esmerelle. Life is a Circle tells the tale of Esmerelle's life. How she avoided the fate of the rest of the Bhaalspawn, how she arrived in Westharbor... and just who is Kail's father.
1. Cleansing Fires

Chapter 1.

Cleansing Fires

_"White birds shall vanish from the North, and great evil shall die and be reborn."_ - Alaundo.

o - o - o - o - o

The child huddled beneath the blankets of her bed, listening to the dim screams from somewhere outside the temple. Each scream represented another life lost; an attacker repelled, of one of her guardians defeated.

Her bedroom door burst open, and Old Mallik ran into her room, slamming the door closed behind him. For a moment he stood leaning against the door, panting as if he had run a hundred miles. Then his eyes sought out the bed, and the child shaking beneath her covers.

This situation was outside the realm of her experience. Since her birth six years ago, she had been carefully raised and nurtured by the priests. Her actions and movements had been shadowed by her guardians. There were no other children in the temple, and no other females. She had no friends, no companions, only the priests and the guardians. And ever since she was old enough to talk, she had been told that she had a great purpose, a divine purpose; she was to become High Priestess at the temple. And so the priests had taught her the ways of their god, and the guardians had kept her safe from dangers she could not perceive in this lonely and desolate temple, all but forgotten in the chaos which raged throughout the land.

"Child!" said Old Mallik. His eighty-year old voice was dry and hoarse, and as he approached the bed she smelt the familiar mothball scent of his robe. "Get up now and put on your cloak. We're going outside. Hurry!" he instructed.

The priests never spared the lash when they thought it was necessary, so she jumped to obey his instructions. Her cloak was hung neatly in her wardrobe, and she flung it around her shoulders, her hands shaking as she tried to fasten the buttons. Her fingers did not want to comply, and as she began shaking even more strongly, with fear and confusion, tears sprung into her eyes.

"Come here," said Mallik, grasping her shoulders and turning her around to face him. He knelt, slowly because of his arthritis, and knelt on the floor. "Enough of that! We won't accept weakness in our High Priestess! Control your tears and your fears, or I'll leave you here for the attackers to find. I won't risk my life to save a weakling!" he said, fastening her buttons one by one.

The girl rubbed a hand across her eyes, wiping away the tears. Then she sniffed a few times, wishing her handkerchief was in her pocket, and looked again at Mallik.

"Good," he said without a smile. He held out his hand and she took it. Together, they left the room via a hidden back door, and entered the network of secret tunnels that riddled the ancient temple.

o - o - o - o - o

The tunnels were cold and dark, and the child struggled to keep up with the elderly man. When her legs began to tire, he had to half-drag her along, causing her cloak to drag in the ancient dust of the place. At one point she lost her footing completely, and was dragged along the floor, grazing her knee along the hard stone. It wasn't until she cried out in pain that Mallik hauled her to her feet. But even as he did, he kept moving, not daring to stop.

The child had so many questions that she wanted to ask; _What's happening? Who are the men attacking us? Why are they trying to hurt me? Where are my guardians? Where are we going?_

But she dared not ask them. She knew from experience that the priests did not answer what they called 'frivolous, unimportant questions'. They told her what they thought she needed to know, when they thought she needed to know it. They answered only questions that related to her studies, and to the great Lord.

Mallik stopped suddenly at a dead end, and reached into a dark patch of shadows with his ancient hand. The girl heard a grinding sound, and slowly, the end of the tunnel before her began to move. A cold wind swept into the tunnel as the crack widened, revealing a hidden door.

It was only then that she realised how silent the tunnels had been; from the time she had entered the tunnel in her room, she had heard only the sound of their running feet and their breathing; hers, a rapid, quiet panting, and his, a fast, dry rasping.

Now, she was returned to the real world. As the door opened, the sounds of battle made it to her ears; screams and cries, orders being shouted to both attack and defend, and the distant clash of weapons. As soon as the tunnel was opened wide enough to allow them to squeeze through, Old Mallik dragged her behind him, and they stepped out into the forest.

It was lighter, out here, then it had been in the tunnels. The moon was full, and the stars were twinkling brightly in the sky. They seemed almost merry, quite at odds with the harsh, cold wind that whipped the girl's long, unbound hair across her face. She pulled her cloak closer around herself, to keep out the chill.

"You must be silent from now on, child. We are still close to the temple, and if we are heard, I will make sure you are the first of us to die," said Mallik. She looked up at his face and gasped in shock; orange light played over his face, causing shadows to dance beneath his eyes and his chin. But the light didn't seem to be _coming_ from him, it merely seemed to be reflecting on him.

She turned, and stared in shock at what lay before her eyes. The temple was besieged by hundreds of figures. Some were on horseback, some operated small siege machines, but most were on foot. They all wore cold, silvery armour that reflected the same orange light; the light of the burning temple, now a raging inferno.

As she was drinking in the sight of the massive fire, Mallik dragged her again, and she hurried to keep up with him. She had never been in the forest before, and struggled to avoid the undergrowth with her small six year-old legs. Sharp brambles scored the skin below her skirt and angular rocks pressed effortlessly through the thin soles of her indoor slippers, cutting into her feet.

Mallik was, she realised, taking her away from the attackers, from the bad men who had killed her guardians and rent her temple home with fire and sword. Exhausted as she was, she sent a mental 'thank you' to the great Lord, for sending Mallik into her room before the fire had trapped her too.

"Stop!" barked a voice from somewhere within the trees to their right.

Mallik stopped, and with his free hand, he drew a dagger from his belt. Remembering what he had said about making sure she died first if they were discovered, she put all her strength into wrenching her hand from his grip. Free, she threw herself to the floor and tried to crawl away. She heard noise behind her as Mallik moved, and then she could crawl no further; his foot had come down on the end of her cloak, preventing her from moving.

He raised his dagger as he bent down towards her, and she screamed. She had never screamed before in her life, never had reason to, but now she screamed in sheer terror. Mallik's eyes were fervent as he thrust the weapon towards her throat.

Another weapon, a massive war-hammer, smashed into Mallik's arm, and the dagger was flung from his hand as the bones in his arm shattered. A booted foot came up, kicking the priest backwards and away from her, but still she did not stop screaming. She screamed as the war-hammer was swung around again, and the armoured figure wielding it brought the weapon down on Mallik's skull, spattering the forest floor with the priest's brains.

She screamed as a second figure scooped her up in strong arms, and held her close to him, in a firm, but not crushing, embrace. The figure made soothing sounds as he carried her back towards the burning temple, and she finally stopped screaming, too exhausted to continue. Instead, a sort of numbness settled on her, and she let her body go limp in her captor's arms.

"What's this?" asked a voice, and the part of her mind that was still paying attention realised that there were many, many more armoured figures around her now. Most of them went about their own business, but a few had gathered to observe her, and the man who held her.

"A girl, Sir," said the man beside her captor, the one who had killed Mallik.

"We found her being dragged bodily by one of the priests. She was trying to escape from him, and when we caught up with them, he tried to kill her," her captor elaborated. His voice was warm, and strangely comforting.

"Well then, let's see her." She was removed from the warm body and held up. She looked at the man far above her, seated upon a tall grey horse. His own hair, what little she could see of it beneath his helm, was also grey. "Pretty little thing," he said at last.

"What would you like me to do with her, Sir?" asked her captor, pulling her to the warmth of his body again. The grey-man regarded him with intelligent brown eyes for a moment.

"My men can't take her. The church of Tyr has taken in dozens of orphans already. Too many parents have been killed during the Troubles... take her back with you. If your DawnMaster will allow it, she can remain in Lathander's care."

The grey-man left then, and several other men followed him. Her captor took her towards a group of low tents set up in a circle around a campfire. He seated himself on a large rock, and sat her on the end of his knee so that he could look over her more thoroughly. At the same time, she studied him.

He looked nothing like the priests or her guardians. Like everybody she had ever known, he was an adult. But she understood, in some indefinable way, that he wasn't the same type of adult as Mallik, or the grey-man who had first assessed her. He was younger; there was no grey or white in his hair, and he was mostly clean-shaven. His eyes were dark brown, like his hair, and an orange cloak, fading to yellow at the ends, was wrapped around his shining armour.

"You're safe now. Nobody will hurt you. My name is Sir Eldon," he said, giving her a smile. It was something new to her. "Do you have a name?"

She did have a name, but something possessed her to shake her head.

"Well then. If you've no name, we'll just have to give you one. How does 'Esmerelle' sound? It was my grandmother's name... she was a wonderful, kind woman who passed away last year. Would you like to be Esmerelle?"

She nodded. Yes. She didn't know what 'kind' meant, but she could be 'Esmerelle'.

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning was grey and drizzly. The armoured men packed up their camp whilst their priests consecrated the ground with holy water - to keep the undead from rising, Sir Eldon informed her. She didn't know what 'undead' were, but she was glad to see the priests casting their incantations. In a world which had changed drastically overnight, priests were a familiar thing to her.

Sir Eldon picked her up, and held her in his arms as he mounted his horse. She had never been held in a caring fashion before, and found it quite comforting. She especially enjoyed seeing more of what was around her from the higher view of the horse. Her life within the temple had been secure and sheltered - she had not even been allowed outside before.

When everybody was ready, the warriors set their horses walking, and they left in a long, shining column. Safe in Sir Eldon's arms, Esmerelle turned to look back at the temple of Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Now it was nothing but a burnt-out husk of a building, an empty shell. She turned away as she was taken steadily away from her old home. And her old life went with it.


	2. For the Gods to Weep

Chapter 2.

For the Gods to Weep

"_Pretty much all the honest truthtelling there is in the world is done by children."_ - Oliver Wendell Holmes

o - o - o - o - o

"Esme!"

The girl, almost a young woman, halted.

"Aliya," she smiled in greeting at her friend.

"I just heard that today's classes are cancelled. Do you know why?"

Esmerelle shook her head, her long brown hair flying through the air with the motion. Shorter than her friend, though two years older, she was every inch the acolyte in her long red robe.

"No. El... I mean, Sir Eldon, didn't tell me anything, except that all the priests were attending a meeting, and that it would last all day."

"Come on, you must have _some_ idea what it's about. How can you live with a cleric and _not_ know?"

"I'm not privy to priest stuff, Ali," said Esmerelle, rolling her eyes. "You should know that by now."

"Fine, fine. I'll stop asking, though I'm _sure_ you know something. You're _so_ lucky to be living with Sir Eldon," said Aliya with a sly smile. "He's so handsome, and strong, and did I mention handsome?"

"I don't think of him like that," said Esmerelle, pulling her face at her friend's suggestive comments. "He's like a father to me."

"Sure. A really, really, _really_ handsome father."

Esmerelle merely rolled her eyes. The truth was, she _did_ think Sir Eldon was extremely handsome... and she found living with him to be more and more uncomfortable of late. She was entering the stage in her life when her body was changing, and she was becoming more aware of boys, and men. When she was younger, she wouldn't have hesitated to greet her 'father' figure with a big hug - at least in the confines of their home; in public, their relationship had to be more formal - but now such gestures felt awkward. She was caught between childhood and womanhood, and trying to figure out how her relationships with the other people in her life fitted together.

"What are you doing for the rest of the day, then?" she asked to change the subject.

"Going to morning prayers... then I thought of going down to the orchard and seeing how the apples are doing," Ali smiled mischievously.

Esme nodded. Her friend loved the small, tart apples that grew in the orchard, just on the outskirts of the temple of Lathander. She especially liked them unripe and somewhat sour, and right now, as summer was approaching its height, was when the apples were sourest.

"I'll go with you, if you like. The teachings of Lathander tell us that two pairs of hands do more work than one."

"You're so bloody pious," said Ali, a hint of her coastal accent shining through her words. Before arriving at the temple, Ali had been the only child of a fisherman. When the man had died at sea in a storm, his neighbours had brought Aliya to be raised by the church. Nobody else had wanted her. She and Esmerelle had bonded instantly.

"And you're a smelly fisher-girl," she replied. There was no venom in either of their words, though; they were spoken fondly, and a familiar ritual between the pair.

"You're going to make a great priest, Esme. Nobody studies as hard as you. I wish I had your sort of dedication... I mean, I don't mind studying and everything, but when we're given a day off, and the weather's as beautiful as this, there's no way I'm being stuck inside. I can praise Lathander just as well in the orchard as I can in the temple," Ali grinned.

o - o - o - o - o

They spent the day in the orchard, climbing the trees and picking the juiciest apples from the highest branches. The small fruits were almost too tart for Esmerelle to bear, but Ali managed to eat quite a few. Afterwards, they dug holes in the soil, burying the seeds in the hopes that they would eventually sprout into saplings. It was another of Lathander's teachings, to encourage life to grow everywhere.

Esme said farewell to Ali at the entrance to the temple courtyard, and watched as her friend made her way back to the shared student accommodations, in an annexe attached to the main temple. Then she turned, and started down the cobbled path to the small cluster of houses at the base of a shallow hill.

Though it was considered something of an oddity, she had lived with Sir Eldon in his small, church-owned house ever since she had arrived at the temple. Now, she noticed that no candles had been lit in the window - a lit candle was a sure indication that somebody was inside - and when she entered the house, it had an empty feeling about it. Strange, for Eldon not to be home yet, she thought.

She changed out of her robe and into her casual clothes, then checked the kitchen for food. Since neither of them had cooked that day, she contented herself with thick slices of cheese and ham on yesterday's bread, and made herself a cup of very mild, watery wine to wash it down. Unlike most priests, Eldon did not think that alcohol was a great evil. He said a little wine even helped to strengthen then body, and did not mind her having a glass on occasion, as long as it wasn't too strong.

By the time the sun was below the horizon and the sky was a brilliant red fading to dark blue, Eldon was still not back from his meeting at the temple. Esmerelle decided to catch up on her missed day of studying, and took one of her prayer books to the long settee in the sitting room. She lay down, resting her head on a cushion, and opened her book to where she had left off.

o - o - o - o - o

When she next opened her eyes, it was almost completely dark. The curtains had been drawn, and several candles were lit above the fireplace, creating tiny islands of light. By the dim light, she could just about make out the shape of a figure, seated in a chair a few feet away from her. She yawned, stretched, and her book fell to the floor. Before she could move to retrieve it, however, Sir Eldon left his chair, and picked it up. He looked for a moment at the page on which it had fallen before closing it and clasping it to his chest.

"When did you get back from your meeting? I didn't hear you come in," said Esmerelle, wondering why he had not yet ordered her to bed.

"Not long ago," he said. She knew he was lying; the candles, which had been new that morning, where burnt more than halfway down the tallow. An uneasy feeling settled over her; Eldon had never lied to her before.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, nothing is wrong. I just want to make sure you know that I love you very much. Though you weren't born to me, I feel like you are my daughter."

"I know. I've felt like that ever since you found me."

"Do you remember much of your life before I found you?"

She thought for a moment; the details of her young life were hazy. Though she possessed an above-average memory, all she could remember of that time was the vague feeling of coldness and loneliness. Only one image was clear in her mind; that of an old man's head being caved in by a man swinging a warhammer.

"Not much. I remember feelings most of all. I remember being very alone. Sometimes I remember cold, or pain... then I remember you taking me away. The first night you found me you took me back to your camp and I slept in your blanket beside the fire, staring up at the stars. I'd never been outside before, and I'd only seen the stars through windows. I remember feeling happy and safe, with the stars shining down on me like beautiful drops of water in the sky." Eldon was silent for a moment, and seemed to be considering her words before he spoke again.

"I have to meet with the other priests again tomorrow, so there'll be no classes. I'll probably be late home again, so make yourself some dinner whenever you feel like it. Don't worry about making anything for me."

"Okay," she replied. "I think I'll just stay here tomorrow and study on my own. I don't want to fall behind with my work."

"That's probably for the best. Now, go to bed. It won't do your body any good to sleep on this uncomfortable furniture."

She nodded, and gave him her usual goodnight hug. Was it just her imagination, or did he seem to hold her more tightly than usual, and for longer? When he released her, she went straight to her room and crawled into her cold bed. Something was definitely wrong, and tomorrow, she would try to find out exactly why Eldon was acting so strangely.

o - o - o - o - o

It was early when Eldon left the house - without eating breakfast, Esme noted. Most out of character for him - and she followed at a distance. At first she was afraid that he would turn and see her, but he seemed completely absorbed in his own thoughts, and did not even look around once.

The courtyard was empty. At this hour, the acolytes were still in their rooms saying their morning prayers, and the priests, Esme knew, would be meeting inside the main temple. Eldon entered through the main door, and she took a last furtive look around the courtyard in case she was being watched. In the near distance, the hills were covered in mist which would burn off once the sun rose higher. The birds in the orchard sang their dawn chorus, but otherwise, the morning was silent. She hurried into the temple before she lost sight of Eldon completely.

The meeting must have been important, because Eldon went straight to the main prayer hall, where mass was held every morning... every morning except this one and yesterday's, it seemed.

She turned into another corridor before another priest could come along and see her, then doubled back towards the far end of the hall. There, she pulled aside a wall-tapestry depicting an image of the Morning Lord, revealing a small hatch in the wall just above the floor. It was an access hatch to the organ, used by the caretakers who cleaned it. She unfastened the latch, opened the hatch, crawled into the small tunnel and closed the hatch behind her.

She had to crawl for a few paces before the tiny corridor ended and she was inside the main organ. Once inside, she was able to kneel without banging her head, and she made her way towards the front of the huge instrument.

It took her a moment to understand the words of the priest who was speaking. His words were caught within the brass casing of the organ, and resounded around the space in which she was crouched. It not only echoed his words, but muffled them as well. She crawled closer to the front air vent in an attempt to hear more clearly.

"...come to any decision?" the speaker asked.

"I have prayed all night, and am still no closer to an answer than I was yesterday," said another priest.

"Nor am I," said another.

"I still think there's only one way to deal with this... situation," said a familiar voice. It was Sir Albur, the man who had killed Old Mallik on the night when Eldon had found her. She had never been able to like Albur... he always seemed so dire, and completely lacked a sense of humour.

"I see you've had no problem changing a person to a 'situation'," said another familiar voice. It was Eldon.

"And I see your judgement is as clouded as ever by your misguided overprotectiveness," Albur replied.

"Protectiveness is never misguided, in Lathander's eyes," said Eldon. Esmerelle looked at him more closely, tried to see him as others saw him. Though he was still young, not even thirty, today he looked older than he ever had before. His eyes bore dark circles beneath them, and he seemed hunched in his cloak where he sat, as if he was in pain.

"...can't remain undecided forever. Eventually we will have to decide what to do about the girl." Esme focused again on what was being said. At the mention of 'girl', she felt her skin begin to crawl. Were they talking about her? She wasn't the only female acolyte... but she couldn't imagine Eldon worrying so much about one of the others.

"My recommendation still stands," said Albur.

"Is anyone else in favour of this action?" asked DawnMaster Sarris. From her vantage-point, she saw a couple of other clerics raise their hands, but the majority adjusted their robes as if uncomfortable with something; whether the suggestion or their own thoughts about it, she did not know. "Does anybody have anything else to say?"

"I do," said Eldon. She saw him stand up at a nod from the DawnMaster, and take his place in front of the priests. "Since yesterday morning, when the information first reached our ears, I have thought long and hard about everything that has happened since we first found Esmerelle, at the temple of Bhaal.

"I believe that everything happens for a reason, and that Lathander has led us to this moment. Had we known what she was when we found her, we may have killed her. But we did not know, so we took her in and cared for her, as the Morning Lord has taught us to care for all things. If Lathander wanted her dead, she would be dead already. I believe that perhaps our lord has some greater purpose in mind for her."

"Did Lathander speak to you directly and tell you all of this?" asked one of the priests who had raised his hand to the DawnMaster's question. Eldon grimaced, and didn't answer. "Then I think you are doing nothing more than assuming about things you cannot know. _Maybe_ Lathander wanted us to save her. But _maybe_ he wanted to give us the benefit of the doubt, and allow us to exercise free will on the matter."

"If we use the free will that Lathander has given us in order to murder, then how does that make us any different than the priests of Bhaal, or Talos, or Cyric?" another priest countered. "Just because we _have_ free will to kill, doesn't mean we _should_."

"I object to the term 'murder'," said Albur coldly. "When a dog turns rabid and you have to put it down to protect others, it is not 'murder', it is duty. It is mercy. It is an act of kindness that protects both people and puts a maddened animal out of its misery."

"Esmerelle is _not_ an animal. She is a thinking, feeling person, who has never committed an act of cruelty or hurt anybody for as long as I have known her," said Eldon hotly.

"Right now, yes. But what happens when the taint begins to manifest itself? What would happen if she ever found out that she is a Child of Bhaal, and began to embrace her divine heritage?"

Esmerelle didn't hear the rest of Albur's speech. She felt deathly cold as his words resounded around the inside of the organ. _Child of Bhaal. Child of Bhaal. Child of Bhaal._

Part of her mind screamed that it wasn't true, that Albur was lying, that she couldn't possibly be one of the spawn of Bhaal, that it was impossible. It screamed at her to get out of there, to leave before she heard anything else that she didn't want to hear. Before she heard any more lies.

But another part of her mind recalled memories long-suppressed. Memories of Old Mallik, the High Priest of Bhaal, telling her of her destiny to become High Priestess and bring about her father's rebirth. Telling her of the glory and strength of Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Telling her that in time, his gifts would become hers, and she would claim her rightful place by the right-hand of the Lord of Murder. Her father.

She realised that she was shaking with fear, as she had many years ago, on the night when the combined forces of Lathander, Tyr and Torm had seiged the Temple of Bhaal in an attempt to destroy the stronghold of their enemy.

With great difficulty, she turned her attention back to the priests in the hall. Now she understood the words. She understood their dilemma. She understood why Eldon looked as if he has lost the person he loved most in the world, and why he had held her for so long last night. It had been his way of saying goodbye. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she listened.

"And what will the people think, when they find out we're harbouring a Bhaalspawn?" said Albur. "We have our reputation to think of. When people realise that we've been caring for a monster, they won't trust us anymore. They will lose confidence, both in us and in Lathander. It could have disastrous results. Many people are only just coming to put their faith back in the gods, following the trouble that was caused by Bane and Myrkul. What do you think will happen when they learn that we protect the spawn of one of those evil gods? Chaos. Anarchy. Dissention. Panic. Riot. All for the sake of one tainted child."

"He raises a valid point," said another priest.

"I won't allow my daughter to be murdered," said Eldon. And for all the world, Esme wished that he was her real father.

"Perhaps we need not kill her," said another. "There are other ways. The Harpers, for example, have been experimenting with certain spells which they can use to cage evil creatures."

"Killing her need not be violent, or painful," said Albur. "There are ways to cause an enemy to die that are quick and merciful, with no blood being shed. Certain poisons can act almost instantly."

"Now you sound like a Shadow Thief. An assassin," Eldon spat.

"I don't see what your problem is. If she is pure-hearted and of good intent, as you claim, then when she dies, her soul will be accepted by Lathander and live forever in His blessed realm. If she is not, then we will have rid the land of a potentially great evil."

"What if we kept her here, locked away?" asked yet another priest. "Maybe restricted her to staying inside the temple at all times?"

"No, no, you'd have to cage her magically, with spells," said another priest.

A debate broke out then, about the best way to cage her, or which was the least painful method of execution, or how some of the other Bhaalspawn had been dealt with. She didn't bother to stay and listen. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she was starting to think about her survival.

She backed out of the tunnel, making sure that the tapestry was back in place. Then she left the temple and ran down the path to her house as fast as her legs could carry her, tears still streaming down her face. She did not realise she was being watched as she ran.


	3. Flights of Fancy

Chapter 3.

Flights of Fancy

"_Some have been thought brave because they were afraid to run away."_ - Thomas Fuller

o - o - o - o - o

_Eldon said to expect him back late again. That means I have a least a few hours to put some distance between myself and the temple_," thought Esmerelle as she stuffed a clean change of clothes into her bag. _They'll come after me, probably on horseback. That means I should travel through the forests, where it'll be harder for the horses to move. But they'll be expecting me to do that... oh, what should I do?_

She stopped when she came across a mace in her wardrobe. She picked up the weapon and ran her hands over it. So far, it had not been used at all. Eldon had given it to her, and told her that next year, when she turned fifteen, she would be old enough to learn how to use it. He was going to teach her himself.

Fresh tears came to her eyes when she thought of Eldon. Now, he would never get the chance to teach her how to fight. He would never discuss Lathander and faith with her again. She would never get the chance to tell him how grateful she was for everything he had done for her, for taking care of her and believing in her. She would never be able to tell him how much she loved him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, brushing away the tears with her sleeve. Then she fastened the mace to the belt of the plain clothes she was wearing in place of her robe. Though she didn't know how to use the mace, it might come in useful to have it close to hand.

There was an urgent knock from the front door, and she instinctively ducked down to avoid being seen through the window. When she didn't respond the knock came again, and a voice called out.

"Esme, it's me! Let me in! I know you're in there, I saw you running down from the temple."

She relented, and opened the door. Aliya took one look at her puffy, tear-stained face and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tightly.

"What's wrong? What's happened?"

"I... I have to go away, Ali," Esmerelle managed to say between quiet sobs. Ali pulled away from her embrace.

"What? Why? Have you and Eldon had a disagreement about something?"

"I can't tell you," she replied, turning away from her friend and picking up her pack. "But I can't stay here, my life is in danger."

"In danger? Esme, this is a temple of Lathander. There's practically nowhere safer! Please don't leave, I'll be so lonely without you. If you're going, I'm going too!"

"No! Ali, it's too dangerous. You have to stay here. I... I need your help."

"In what way?" her friend asked suspiciously. Esme hurried into her room and stuffed a spare travelling pack full of clothes whilst Ali looked on silently.

"Take this pack to the river, as far down stream as you can safely go, and throw it into the water. But make sure that one or two things stay behind, as if they've washed up against rocks or something. When Eldon gets back, tell him that you're worried about me, that you saw me heading towards river earlier in the day. They'll think I've followed the river and with any luck it will look like I've slipped and been carried away. If you can manage to get your hands on some pigs blood from the kitchens, and spread it about a bit near the river, even better."

"Lying is a sin in Lathander's eyes, Esme," said Ali seriously.

"What about two weeks ago when you were dropping asleep in morning class, and you told Dawnbringer Rashine it was because you'd had bad dreams all night, when in actual fact it was because you'd snuck out of the temple and come down here to talk to me all night."

"I had a bad dream before I came to see you. It wasn't a complete untruth. It just wasn't the whole truth."

"Please, Ali. I really need you to do this for me. I can't tell you why, but you'll probably hear about it after I'm gone. If not, ask Eldon, but give it a few days, I need to get as far away as possible. It would be best if everybody just thought I was dead."

"But Esme, why do you want everybody to think that you're dead? Why do you want Eldon to think that you're dead?"

"I can't tell you, Ali. Please, just do this for me. Don't make me beg."

"Well... I suppose," Ali relented. "Will we ever see each other again?"

"I don't know," Esme admitted, biting her lip to keep from crying again. "I hope so. But I don't know for sure. I've no idea where I'm going, or what I'll do..."

"I'll find you Esme, I promise," said Ali, hugging her again. Esme felt fresh tears moistening her eyes, and pushed her friend gently away.

"Thank you, Ali. I'll never forget you, but I have to go now. I might not have much time. Will you go to the river, and do as I asked? But wait as long as possible before telling anybody that you saw me there."

"Of course." Ali took up the spare pack, and walked through the house with her friend. Esme stopped to take some cured meat and a loaf of bread from the kitchen, and some of the travelling rations that Eldon and the other knights used when they were out on missions for the church. For the last time ever, she closed the door of her home behind her, then turned and gave her best friend in the world one final hug.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Ali," she whispered, unable to keep the tears from flowing.

"Not half as much as I'll miss you," Ali cried back. "May Lathander always walk with you."

"And with you."

She pulled herself away from her friend, and without a backward glance, made her way towards the forest. She knew that if she looked back, she would change her mind, beg Ali to come with her. So she kept her gaze on the horizon, on the mysterious outisde world that awaited her away from the Morninglord's temple.

o - o - o - o - o

Travel through the forest was slow. It was high summer, and the undergrowth had proliferated for a whole season. Brambles, nettles, ferns and creepers all added their own special obstruction. But Esmerelle was heartened by the fact that what she found difficult to pass, horses would too. And the brambles didn't just cause obstruction, they also provided food. As she walked she picked blackberries and raspberries, and even found a few bilberry bushes which kept her occupied for several minutes. She ate as she walked, sipping sparingly from her canteen of water. And though she felt free, she also felt lost.

She knew only vaguely where she was. Lathander's temple was located some miles west of a village named Zelbross, which was situated on the southern banks of the Delimbiyr River, just before it flowed into the Grayflow River. The temple itself had been built atop a small hill, on a small plains nestled between the river and the High Forest, in which stood the Star Mountains. She knew that she was almost due east of Waterdeep, on the Sword Coast, and due south of Silverymoon, which was on the northern side of the High Forest. But she also knew that she would find no shelter in the cities. Any place that housed a temple of Lathander was dangerous to her; if the priests and knights from her temple passed around word that she was missing, she would undoubtedly be found in no time.

Esmerelle travelled well into the night, only stopping to rest when she was sure there was no sound of pursuit behind her. By now, Eldon would probably know she was missing. He and the clerics would be searching the river for any sign of her. Any sign of her body. They would find the clothes and, hopefully, blood, put there by Ali, and come to the conclusion that she had been injured, and carried away by the fast-flowing water. They would probably scour the river-banks for a few days. If they forced Ali to talk, it would take them another day to assemble a small force to come after her. By which point, her tracks would be old. Besides, none of the knights and clerics could track very well.

For the second time in her life, she lay beneath the stars, afraid of what the future might hold. For the moment, she was relatively safe. But even if the priests didn't come after her, there was still the matter of winter. Right now, she had enough food to last for a couple of days, and she could pick up fruits and nuts from the forest as she walked. Water would be provided by streams, small tributaries of the main river, but there was one thing the forest could not provide; her need for companionship.

Sleep, when it came, was fitful and haunted by dreams of Sir Albur hunting for her. In the quiet of the night, small nocturnal mammals passed her still form where she slept in a natural ditch. Bats performed their acrobatic hunts in the air, catching moths that were attracted to the heat of her body. A fox stopped to sniff at her, and decided that she posed no threat before moving off to find a meal of its own. But no humans passed by; the southern section of the High Forest, known to the locals as 'Dire Wood', was not too welcoming of people.

o - o - o - o - o

Esmerelle trudged wearily to top of a steep incline. It was her fifth day of travelling. She had run out of food two days ago, and hadn't come across a tributary in over a day. She had no food, and precious little water left in her canteen. On top of that she was physically and mentally exhausted from walking and from worrying about pursuit, and a scratch on her leg, courtesy of a particularly nasty bramble she hadn't seen, seemed to have become infected. It burnt with pain, and she hadn't been able to rest deeply enough to replenish her repertoire of healing spells.

Before her eyes lay the High Forest. From her higher elevation she could see the top of the canopy, spreading out before her like a verdant, green carpet as far as the eye could see. At any other time she might have been able to appreciate the natural beauty around her. Now, she felt little but despair. This forest went on _forever_. Would it never end? She had thought that she would be safe, out in the wilds, away from civilisation, from people who would wish her harm. What was the point of staying away from people if she was going to die anyway from starvation, or thirst, or loneliness?

Tears, absent whilst she had been focusing on survival, flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Maybe she should just go back... maybe they wouldn't kill her, or imprison her. She could beg them to spare her, she would promise to be good, to never hurt anybody or anything. She would worship Lathander every day, and help those in need, and heal the sick and the wounded. She would even give up living with Eldon, and sleep with the rest of the acolytes in the main residences.

Yes, that was what she would do. If she was going to die, it might as well be somewhere she knew, with people she cared about. If she died out here, nobody would find her body. She would be nothing but food for scavengers, and eventually even her clothes would rot away. She would just cease to have ever existed.

She rubbed at her eyes, wiping away the tears. Her hands must have been dirtier than she thought, because when she opened them, she saw a line of grey in her vision, marring the beauty of the brilliant blue sky. She rubbed again at her eyes, then squinted at the grey. It wasn't dirt... it was smoke! Hope rose in her chest. Smoke meant a fire, and obviously a controlled one, or she'd see flames in the canopy. And controlled fire meant people. People who might have food, and water, and might even help her find her way out of this forest!

All thoughts of returning to the temple fled her mind as she slowly made her way down the incline. Halfway down the ground disappeared, the hill eroded away by some ancient force of weathering. All that was left was a grey cliff-face, dotted occasionally with brave plants trying to colonise the bare rock. Easing herself over the edge, she clung on to these plants, and slowly lowered herself down, her leg burning terribly as her muscles strained.

A few feet from the bottom, a plant that she was holding came loose, its roots unable to support her weight. She fell inelegantly to the ground, landing in a heap at the base of the cliff. Tears welled again as she rubbed her bruised back, but now that she had a destination, she stood and began moving. It was then that she realised she had lost her vantage point. From down here, all she could see above her was canopy. She couldn't see into the distance, couldn't see where the smoke came from. But she hazarded a guess, and set out in the general direction of where she had seen the smoke rise.

After an hour or so of limping she began to smell something cooking. She stopped, and sniffed the air like a dog. Hunger had sharpened her senses, and she detected what she thought was roasted chicken, and... blueberry pie? No, surely she must be mistaken. Who out here could be making pie? No doubt hunger was making her delirious. But with nothing better to do, she followed her nose towards the delicious smells.

What she found surprised her. Crouching at the edge of the tree line, she examined the small clearing in front of her. Inside the clearing was a house. A house! It looked to be made of wood and mud, and had a straw roof. Several goats wandered loose, cropping the grass inside the clearing, and at the side of the house was a chicken coop. Several of the birds were scratching at the bare earth under the watchful eye of a cockrel. A flash of movement caught her eyes, and she saw the white tail of a rabbit as it disappeared down a hole in a nearby bank of grass. Another rabbit popped its head up from another hole further down the bank, then disappeared again.

The front door of the house stood open, and it was from there she could smell food cooking. She desperately wanted to stay in the trees, where she felt covered and safe, but hunger drove her onwards. She stepped out of the trees and, crouching low, approached the side of the house. One of the goats bleated and shook its head, and she winced at the noise. Slowly, she stood to the level of the window, and peered inside.

She could see no movement, but from somewhere within the house came the sound of humming. The humming was no song that she recognised... it lacked tempo and rhythm, and sounded more like general noise-making than humming with true purpose. Slowly, as quietly as possible, Esmerelle edged her way around the door frame and into what appeared to be a kitchen. On the far side of the room was an oven, from which came the smell of meat cooking. And on the table, right in front of her, was a freshly baked pie. Almost salivating with hunger, she took a step towards the pie... and tripped over a cat that had twined itself around her legs. She was sent crashing into a nearby rack of kitchen utensils, which clattered noisily to the ground.

"Who's that?" called a voice from further inside the house. It was an elderly voice, the voice of a woman. Esmerelle pushed herself to her feet, and ran quickly out of the house. "Stop there!" called the voice. And Esmerelle did, though not of her own volition. She merely found that she couldn't move. She was frozen in mid-step by an unseen force.

"Why look, Kittykins, it's a girl-child!" said the voice behind her. She heard footsteps, and an old woman shuffled into view. She wore a long blue skirt of cotton, and a shirt of creamy white. A blue and white woollen shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and in her arms was the same striped tabby-cat that had tripped her up. The woman was somewhat hunch-backed, and looked ancient, but her intelligent blue eyes were as cold as ice. "Look at her, Kittykins!" said the woman, holding out the cat towards Esmerelle's face. The cat, held beneath its forelegs and danglings unmajestically from the woman's hands, merely meowed at her and lashed its tale. "Yes, yes, it's okay Kittykins, she gave Aggie a scare too." The woman took the cat back into her arms, and subjected Esmerelle to a questioning glare. "And what were you doing here, eh? Come to steal from old Aggie? Come to take my potions for yourself?" She seemed to realise that Esmerelle could not answer whilst held still, and waved her hand dismissively. Immediately, Esme fell forward, and picked herself up off the ground.

"I wasn't here to steal," she said defensively. "I was just hungry. I haven't eaten in two days, and I smelt your cooking from miles away. I'm sorry if I startled you."

"Ahh, why didn't you just say so! Old Aggie is always feeding waifs and strays. Not usually people, though. Normally it's the badgers and the foxes, occasionally the fey-folk."

"Fey folk?"

"Pixies, girly. Pixies and imps and sprites and... well... you get the picture. They come from all over just to try Aggie's food, they do."

"Who's Aggie?" she asked, rearranging her pack so that it sat more comfortably on her sore back.

"That's me, dearie. I'm Agatha, though you can call me Aggie. Everybody else does."

"There are other people here?" she asked, looking around the clearing for more signs of human life.

"People? What do I want with people? No, girly, there's no other people here. Just Aggie and Kittykins, and whatever creature or fey beast decides to stop by. Well now, what shall I do with you, I wonder? I'm not fond of people, but Kittykins seems to like you. And you look like a scrawny half-starved owl chick. I suppose I better put something in your belly before you pass out with hunger. Just don't tell they fey that I'm giving you some of their food. I'm sure they won't mind, but they do get awfully surly sometimes. Well, don't just stand there with your mouth open catching flies. Come on in, girly. I'll get you some clean water so you can wash up, and then we'll see about a nice meal."

The old woman shuffled back into the house, still stroking her cat. Esmerelle hesitated. She was hungry bordering on starving, and knew that she wouldn't get another chance like this again. But if Eldon and the others were looking for her, she needed to keep moving. In the end, her stomach decided for her. She cautiously entered the house, and waited to see what Aggie would do next.


	4. New Beginnings

Chapter 4.

New Beginnings

"_Those who educate children well are more to be honored than parents, for these only gave life, those the art of living well."_ - Aristotle

o - o - o - o - o

Esmerelle slid into a seat at the table as Aggie filled a metal bowl full of water from the pump outside. The old woman brought the bowl in with a cloth, and placed it on the table beside the pie.

"There you go, dearie. Wash your face and your hands and any other bit of skin showing, then we can at least pretend you're clean. I'll carve up this chicken while you're doing that, and after dinner I can take a look at your leg. The gods only know what other scrapes and bumps you have. What did you say your name is again?"

"Aliya," she lied as she washed the dirt from her skin. It felt good to be clean again.

"And how did you come to be here, Aliya? Locals know better than to enter Dire Wood. Only a few brave souls come this far in, and only because I ask them to."

"I ran away from home," she said with a shrug. She hadn't even thought about a cover story yet, and was trying to make it up on the spot.

"Really? And why'd you do that. Seems to me that home is often the safest place to be, especially with the realms as troubled as they are."

"The people in my... village... thought I was a bad person. They wanted to punish me for it."

"Why? What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" she said, raising her voice to an almost-shout.

"Then why did they think you're a bad person?"

"Because my father was a bad person. He killed some people. And he stole some things, too."

"Ahh," said Aggie, a knowing smile on her face. "So now you want to kill people and steal things as well. You'll probably kill Aggie and Kittykins in their sleep, steal all their valuables."

"No, of course not! I'm not a murderer, and I'm not a thief!"

"Just making sure," said Aggie. She placed two plates of sliced chicken and roasted vegetables on the table, then put a bowl of diced chicken on the floor. The cat immediately ran over to the dish and began eating its meal. Esme tucked into her own at a gesture from Aggie. She was ravenous, barely even pausing to chew her food before she swallowed it. When Aggie put a plate of buttered bread on the table, she took a slice of that too.

"Where do you get the flour for bread?" she managed to ask between mouthfuls. "You can't possibly grow it yourself."

"There's a merchant comes by boat along the river twice a year, travelling between Lhork and Secomber. I go to the edge of the forest and meet him at the docks there, and trade him whatever I need for the potions I make."

"Potions? Are you a witch?" Esme asked suspiciously.

"Of sorts, of sorts," said Aggie, sitting down and starting on her own plate of food. "I was an adventurer, in my day. When I started getting too old for the adventuring life, I settled down in Zelbross. I lived there for a long time, working on spells and potions. People came to me for help, and I helped birth more than my fair share of babes. Things got especially bad during the Godswar. Priests were useless, so people would come to me more and more for potions. Of course, magic didn't work properly back then either, so I made quite a tidy sum selling to the next generation of adventurers."

"So what are you doing here?"

"Oh, eventually I got tired of Zelbross. They got themselves a new healer, one of those Ilmater fellows, and a few of the lads came here and built me this house, so I could die in peace."

"You came here to die? How long ago was this?"

"About four years."

"You've been dying for four years?" asked Esme in surprise.

"We're all dying, girly. We spend our whole lives dying. I thought my time was up, but it seems the gods have other plans for me. Can't say I'm sorry. And now that you've taken the edge off that hunger, why don't you roll up your trouser leg so that I can take a look at that scratch?"

She did as the woman commanded, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread as Aggie knelt on the floor and examined the infected cut. She liked the old woman, and her forthright and honest manner. She had spent most of her life around the kindly but often restrained clerics and knights of Lathander. They had taught her everything that they had known, everything that a priest of Lathander ought to know. But what they hadn't taught her was about how to be a young woman in a hostile world. They had glossed over the harsher facts and reality, expecting her to pick them up herself in her own time, at a later stage in her training. They hadn't thought, for even a moment, that she would never complete her training.

"Well, this is definitely infected," said Aggie at last. "It was silly of you to run away without any healing salve. Luckily, I have just the thing to fight the infection and heal the wound. Just you wait here with Kittykins." Aggie ambled off into another room of the house, and Esme took the chance to have a more in-depth look around the kitchen. The wooden walls were bare, save for the utensils which hung from hooks at various points around the room. The wood-burning oven was small, obviously designed for a single person to use, though a full set of plates was stood neatly stacked by the side of the sink. Why a woman who lived alone needed a full set of plates was beyond her.

"Here we are," said Aggie, returning with a jar of something green. "This will see you right in no time." The old woman dipped her finger into the jar and smeared the green stuff all over Esme's leg. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. "Ah, don't you be minding that smell," Aggie said with a smile. "That's what makes the whole thing work."

"What _is_ it?" asked Esme, pinching her nostrils closed.

"Healing salve. What's in it is a trade secret, though. Now, as you're here, how would you like a room for the night? You look as if you haven't seen a bed in days, and it'll give you chance to have a proper wash. Maybe even work some of those stains out of your clothes, eh?"

"Well..." she said, hesitating. Every moment that she wasted was a moment that Eldon and the priests might be catching up to her. But on the other hand, they'd have to find another way down the cliff that she had fallen off. That could take them some time... "Alright. I'd like that, thank you."

"Come this way then, Aliya, and I'll show you to the spare bed."

"Why do you have a spare bed, if it's just you living here?" she asked, picking up her pack and letting the old woman lead her through the house.

"The lads made it for me when they built the rest of the house. Don't know why. Maybe they thought I'd meet a handsome young man out here, eh?" she cackled. For the first time in days, Esme smiled. And her smile widened when Aggie led her into a small room with a bed. The room itself was basic, with only the bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers in it. There wasn't even a wash-stand.

"If you go 'round the back of the house, you'll find a small well. You can clean yourself up there, and you'll find a washing board for your clothes, too," said Aggie, as if reading her mind. "When you're settled we can have a piece of that pie you were moistening earlier." Esmerelle blushed at the memory of how she was almost salivating over the pie.

Aggie left her to it, and Esme took out her change of clothes. She made her way outside, and found the well easily at the back of the house. She stripped to her underclothes, and used the winch to hoist up a bucket of clean, cold water. Then she splashed the water over her body, scrubbing away the sweat and dirt from five days of travel. As she was working, one of the goats stood by its trough and bleated at her for attention. Seeing that the trough was empty, she filled it, and returned to washing her hair. Cold but finally clean, she pushed the water from her body with her hands, and changed into her spare travelling clothes.

In the kitchen, Aggie was waiting for her with a piece of pie. They ate in amicable silence, then Esmerelle asked if she might sleep for a while. Aggie nodded, and Esme made her way to her temporary bedroom. There, she said her daily prayers to Lathander and crawled into bed, still fully clothed. With a full stomach and inside a warm house, in a comfortable bed, sleep quickly took her.

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning, Esme woke to the unfamiliar sound of chickens clucking quietly. Light streamed in through the open curtains, falling on the book of Lathander which lay on the chest of drawers beside the bed. She rolled back the covers and knelt on the floor in front of the book, saying her prayers as she had done almost every morning for the past nine years. When she was younger, they had been merely words that Eldon wanted her to say. Now they were words that _she_ wanted to say, because her faith gave Lathander strength, and in turn, her faith gave _her_ strength.

The rest of the house was built in a similar fasion to the kitchen and bedroom; everything seemed small, but was sturdily built, if a little bare. In exploration mode, her curiosity getting the better of her, she found a sitting room with a rocking chair and a shelves full of books, what appeared to be a laboratory with empty bottles and herbs lying all over the place, and a second, larger bedroom, which was looked more lived-in than hers. There was also an indoor bathroom, with a metal tub and a hole in a raised wooden area for a toilet. Though there were no drainage pipes, bad smells were kept at bay by the soil and rose petals which were in two buckets beside the hole.

In the kitchen, Aggie was making breakfast, and the scent of fried eggs and bacon wafted through the entire house. Once again, Esme let her stomach lead her, and found Kittykins also waiting expectantly on a chair by the kitchen table.

"Good morning Aliya. I hope Kittykins didn't wake you," said Aggie.

"Not at all. I slept like a baby all night. I don't think I've ever had such a good night's sleep in my life. Or smelt anything as delicious as your cooking."

"Deprivation will do that to you," Aggie said with a nod. "When you have nothing, even the most basic of comforts can seem luxurious. That's the problem with nobles, you know. They've always had whatever they've wanted, never had to worry about not having anything. So they keep expecting it, and woe betide anyone who takes their comforts away from them."

"I've never met any nobles," she shrugged, taking a seat beside the cat. Aggie served her two eggs and several rations of bacon, again with thick slices of buttered bread. "Do you make the butter from goat's milk?" Esme asked.

"That's right. Can't be doing with cows, big dumb things. Goats may eat me out of house and home, but at least they got a bit of intelligence. They keep the clearing clear, and that's what's important."

"Why's the clearing important?" she asked with a mouthful of bacon. She was aware that it was rude to talk with her mouth full - Eldon had told her many times as a child - but she was so hungry that she couldn't help herself.

"It's enchanted, that's why. That's how the fey know to find me. It's like a homing instinct they have on this spot. Something in the ground makes it special to them. Without those goats, the forest would come creeping in, taking over my house. Then where would I put the chickens? And rabbits don't like forests either. They need open grass to run and see. Forests scare them."

"I've never seen a fey," she admitted.

"They're shy folk, don't like to be seen much by humans. They'll tolerate elves sometimes, especially some of the bigger fey, like dryads and nymphs. But most of the smaller ones hide when anything bigger than a fox comes by. This forest is theirs, you know. They don't take kindly to people trespassing in it."

"But they don't mind you living here?"

"Course not. I feeds them, don't I? Anyway. Where are you headed to, young Aliya?"

"I... don't know," she said reluctantly. "I just had to get away from home. I didn't know where I'd end up."

"Hmm. Well, if you've got a couple of days to spare, you could come with me, to the river."

"What's at the river?" she asked suspiciously.

"I told you yesterday, girly. The merchant comes to the docks twice a year, and Kittykins tells me it's that time of the year again. But I'm getting old, and a young back and a strong pair of arms can help me carry extra supplies back for winter. 'Course, you don't _have_ to help, but it seems to me you don't have anywhere else to be going, and I'll feed you and let you sleep in the bed if you help me out with the animals too."

"Which direction will we be travelling in, to reach the river?"

"East. The river is a few miles to the east as the crow flies. It'll take us a full day to get there, and a full day to get back. We'll have to stop the night at the docks, but we can take my old travelling tent, and the weather will be warm enough for us."

"Alright," Esmerelle agreed, a little reluctantly. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," said Agatha, with a big smile.

o - o - o - o - o

"Aliya, come on now, I want to lock the door."

Esmerelle hurriedly put her prayerbook on top of the old tent in her pack, and fastened it securely. Then she hurried through to the kitchen and found Aggie waiting outside, leaning on the sturdy wooden tent poles that she would use as walking aids.

"Is Kittykins coming with us?" Esme asked when she saw the cat sitting beside Aggie's feet.

"Of course. Kittykins goes everywhere with old Aggie," explained the witch, turning the key in the lock and pocketing it.

"Is he your familiar?" asked Esme, letting Aggie lead the way into the forest.

"That's right. Had him since I was a girl, not much older than you I'll wager."

"I thought cats rarely lived past twenty years," she replied, eyeing Kittykins skeptically.

"Shows what you know about familiars, then. They live as long as their masters. Works that way for druids and rangers, too. It's the magical link, the bond forged between two minds, that allows them to live so long. But the price they pay for an extended lifespan is that when we die, so do they. We feel their pain, and they feel ours. Not every wizard or even every druid wants that sort of burden. Some never find familiars or animal companions. Others have no desire to. See that over there? It's coltsfoot. Good for salting food. Remember where it is, we can pick some on the way back."

"Why don't you just use salt?"

"Merchant doesn't always have it. Besiders, coltsfoot is more natural. Too much salt will kill you, but you can never have enough coltsfoot. See that there? That's dockleaf. If you get a nettle sting, you take a big dockleaf and rub it over the sting. It'll neutralise the toxins and make it less painful."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Esmerelle.

"'Cos eventually you're going to be on your own again, and I can't be worried about you going off into the forest without any knowledge of it. You're lucky that that scratch was all you got. There's a lot worse out there. For example, that creeper vine over there is poison ivy. Prepared correctly it has some medicinal usage, but if you touch it or get it in your eyes, it'll make your skin flare up."

"Why did you lock the door of your house if nobody ever comes into the forest?" Esme mused.

"You're not listening to me are you, girly?" Aggie sighed. "I didn't say nobody ever comes this way, I said people don't _usually_ come this way. You're here after all, aren't you? I can't be having children getting into my potions and messing everything up. Beside, some of those fey have a wicked sense of humour. Last time I left my door unlocked and my house empty, I came back to find all my dishes dirty, milk spilt all over the floor, and the labels on my potions swapped around. Do you see that tree over there? That's willow. It's bark can heal pain, when boiled in water and allowed to steep. It won't heal damage, not like a proper cleric, but it'll take the edge off a hurt."

"How did you learn all of this, Aggie?"

"Some from books, some from herbalists and alchemists, some from experimenting."

"Where did you learn from alchemists?"

"In Neverwinter, where I was born."

"That's to the north, isn't it?"

"That's right. Neverwinter has an academy for magic students, and no small amount of mages and sorcerers in the courts. When I was a lot less wrinkled than I am now, there was a young man there named Aldanon. Had all sorts of interest in arcane matters. Not a wizard himself, you understand, but he advanced the craft in many ways with his discoveries. So talented, too. He taught me much of what I know about preparing potions."

They spent the rest of the day talking; usually with Aggie talking, and Esmerelle listening. Though she was slowly coming to trust the witch, she still avoided questions about her past, and Aggie didn't push the matter too much. Instead, she taught Esme about all sorts of plants and animals. The young woman tried to absorb as much of the information as she could, but she knew she would never be able to remember everything that the witch had said.

The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon when Esme heard the first sounds of the river. A waterbird, perhaps a coot or a moorhen, called out raucously. There was a louder, horn-like call (a heron, Aggie informed her) and then the sound of water splashing as a group of ducks took to wing. The ground became damper, and the trees gave way to ferns, cattails and bullrushes.

A little further down-river, and moored against a small wooden dock, was a boat. It was the first real boat Esme had seen, outside of picture books. It didn't look much like what she had come to expect boats to look like... the pictures she had seen were of tall-masted, deep-hulled sea ships with wide sails for catching wind on the open water. This vessel - The Water Eagle by name - was a wide-bodied, shallow-hulled tub with oars as well as small sails, and looked like it wouldn't move faster than a walking pace.

"Aggie! Good to see you're still around!" called a man from the ship. He jumped down onto the dock, and greeted the old woman with a friendly handshake. Then he ran his eyes over Esme, who tried not to squirm _too_ much at the attention. "And who do we have here?"

"My niece's daughter, just come down from Neverwinter," said Aggie promptly. "Say hello to Aldar Zim, Aliya."

"Hello Mister Zim, it's nice to meet you," said Esme, dropping a meek curtsey for good measure.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Aliya," smiled the merchant. He was in his middle-ages, and though his clothes were colourful, they were also functional. Esme noticed several other men aboard the boat, and tried to shrink back a little behind Aggie.

"She's so shy," Aggie smiled at Aldar Zim, smoothing down Esme's hair in what was probably supposed to be a comforting, familial gesture. "Aliya, dear, why don't you go and set the tent up on that patch of dry ground over there?"

She quickly took the tent poles from Aggie, and carried them to the ground that the old woman indicated. While Aggie and the trader made small talk, Esme took the tent from her pack and began assembling it as she thought best. After several failed attempts at getting the whole thing to stay upright, she heard Aldar Zim chuckling.

"Does your niece need any help with that tent?" he asked.

"City kids," Aggie tsked, and Esme could imagine the old woman rolling her eyes. "They don't know anything about camping. I've been pestering my niece for years to get Aliya out here so I can pass on what I know before some god or other starts reading my name off a list. But, family always think they know best, and now look at what I've got to put up with! No, no, don't trouble yourself my good man. She's got to learn some time. I'll direct her myself, we'll manage. And thank you for the offer, but I'd much rather sleep out here than on your boat. My stomach complains something awful with the rocking of those things, you know."

Esme, from under the collapsed tent, sighed. She was having to put up with _this_ when she could have been sleeping on a boat?

"Aliya, child, come out from under there and I'll tell you how to assemble the tent," said Aggie, poking her shoulder through the material. "Don't worry, you'll have it up in no time."

o - o - o - o - o

Esme stood on the dock with Aggie, waving at the trading boat as it disappeared around a bend in the river. Then she hoisted one bag of wheat and one of flour onto each shoulder, and followed the witch into the forest. Her pack was already loaded with the tent and other small items which Aggie had seen fit to buy. The old woman was also carrying a pack of items, and using the tent poles as walkin sticks again. Kittykins trotted happily beside them, and Esme could have _sworn_ that he was happy to be unburdoned.

"I didn't know that you have a niece," Esme said at last.

"I don't."

"Then why did you tell Mister Zim that I'm your niece's daughter?"

"Because Aldar Zim is a mithering old busybody."

"Lying is a sin in Lathander's eyes," said Esme by rote.

"Is that so?" Aggie snorted. "Well, for all I know, it could be true. I had a sister, once. And she had children. What's your mother's name?"

"I don't know. She died during childbirth, I never knew her."

"Didn't your father tell you anything about her?"

"My father and I were never close," she said, wishing Aggie would drop the subject.

"What about the rest of your family? Couldn't they tell you anything?"

"I wasn't close to the rest of my family either."

"Mm hmm," said Aggie, and she knew that the witch was humouring her.

To Esme, the trip back to the house seemed to take twice as long as the trip to the river. But she knew that it was only because she was weighted down, both with the sacks that she carried and the weight of her own lies. She didn't like lying to Aggie, but she had to protect herself, she had to hide who she was. It was a lie borne of necessity, rather than out of a malcious desire to make trouble. Tonight she would pray to Lathander extra hard, to make up for it.

It was dark when Aggie slipped her key into the front door and turned the lock. Together they wrestled the sacks of wheat and flour into a hidden basement that Esme hadn't even known was there, then Aggie made them both a cup of tea and honey.

Esme was sitting at the kitchen table, stroking Kittykin's fur, when she heard a thrumming sound outside. _Horses!_ she realised. Aggie must have seen the look of panic on her face, because she grabbed a hefty walking stick from beside the door and gestured for Esme to wait in the kitchen as she went outside. As soon as the kitchen door was closed, Esme dashed to the window and peered cautiously out into the night.

Several horsemen were approaching, and they bore torches so that their mounts could see better through the trees. Beneath their capes she saw the cold gleam of metal, and as they approached Aggie, the lead rider took off his helmet. _It was Albur!_ Then a second rider removed his helmet, and she recognised Eldon instantly. He looked pale and exhausted, with dark circles ringing his eyes. Her heart immediately went out to him. She wanted desperately to go to him, throw her arms around him, but thoughts of being 'executed' stopped her from moving. Instead, she crouched down on the floor so that they could not see her.

"My my, look at this group of knights, Kittykins!" came Aggie's voice. And for the first time, Esme realised that Kittykins was no longer with her. "What do they want with old Aggie, do you think?"

"We're searching for a girl from our temple who is missing," said Sir Albur coldly.

"A girl? Missing? Really?"

"Have you seen her?" Eldon asked, hope in his voice.

"Tell me, does this girl have long brown hair, and eyes like sapphires on a sunny day?"

"Yes," said Eldon.

"Then yes, I've seen your girl," Aggie replied.


	5. The Witch of the Woods

Chapter 5.

The Witch of the Woods

"_When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."_ - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

o - o - o - o - o

From her vantage point at the window, Esmerelle saw Eldon nudge his mount forward and lean down over the animal's neck. Her own heart was pounding. Aggie was going to give her to the priests, let them take her away and kill her! Why, oh _why_ had she agreed to stay the extra days with the witch? She should have kept moving. She could have been long gone by now. Who knows, maybe she could have caught a ride with the merchant on his ship and been en route to Secomber, beyond the knights' reach.

"Where? Where have you seen her?" said Eldon, and Esme heard the desperation in his voice. Compared to the other clerics, with their greying hair and stiff-backed postures, he looked young and vulnerable. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see the pain painted on his face. It hurt her too much to know she was the cause of it.

"T'was a good two days ago when I saw her about a day's walk north of here. Old Aggie and Kittykins were out picking herbs for Aggie's potions, yes they were. It was Kittykins who noticed her first, a frightened young thing trying to avoid being seen and heard. But we saw her, we heard her. Right scared, she was. And hurt, too. I fed her, and tended the hurt she'd taken, then she said she had to go. Go! Can you believe it? Such a young girl, all alone in the unwelcoming forest. I tried to stop her, tried to bring her back here with me where I could keep a proper eye on her, but the silly thing ran off. Old Aggie's legs aren't what they used to be, and we quickly lost her."

"Did she say where she was going, or why she was running?"

"Barely said two words to me. But when she ran, it was north, in the direction of the Star Mountains. Who knows, maybe she's trying to reach Silverymoon. That's what I'd be doing right now, if I was her. It may be a big city, but it's safer than the grim forest. Would you good Sirs like to come in for a cup of tea, perhaps? It's been a long time since Aggie and Kittykins had any real company."

"Thank you, but no," said one of the clerics. "We have to catch up with her, before she gains any more of a lead on us." The group began to turn their horses away, but Eldon loitered behind.

"Please," he said to Aggie, his eyes and his voice begging. "If you see her again, send word of her to the temple of Lathander."

"What did this young lass do, to make you all so jittery and anxious?"

"That is none of your concern," said Albur. "Suffice it to say that she is a runaway acolyte, and we want her back."

"All this trouble for a single runaway acolyte?" Aggie mused.

"No," said Eldon. "She is also my daughter." He and Albur turned their horses, and sent them into a trot to catch up with the rest of the group. Aggie watched them until they had left the clearing, then turned back to the house.

Inside, Esme was frantic. Eldon had come _so_ close to finding her, and now Aggie might still give her up. She wanted to run, to hide, to make herself invisible, but panic kept her motionless as she began to hyperventilate.

"Well well, young Aliya," said Aggie, closing the kitchen door behind her. Kittykins jumped from her arms and onto the table. "If lying is a sin in Lathander's eyes, then the legions of the nine hells oughta be knocking on my door right about now. You told me that your father was a bad man, that he killed folk and stole. But it turns out he's a priest of Lathander, one of the last people in the world to turn to vice. And don't try telling me that that man isn't your father... I've seen enough worried parents to spot one a mile away."

"I have to go," said Esme, using the wall to support herself as she stood.

"I think not! You'll be telling me why you're running from your father and a bunch of clerics, or I'll be telling them just where you are. I appreciate the need for a well-placed half-truth, but I don't appreciate people making a mockery out of my welcome. Nor does Kittykins. You just sit yourself at the table and I'll make us a nice cup of camomile tea, eh?"

Her mind numb, and bereft of any better idea, Esme took a seat at the table and watched unthinking as Aggie boiled the water for tea over the small stove. When the old woman offered her a cup of the sweet-smelling liquid, she took it and merely held it in her hands.

"So, Aliya... if that even is your real name... tell me why your father is looking for you."

"He's not my father. He adopted me when I was young. My real father is Bhaal. I don't know who my mother is. About ten years ago, Eldon was one of the knights who sieged the temple of Bhaal where I was being raised. They didn't know what I was, who I was, so they took me back to the temple of Lathander with them. A few days ago I found out that I was one of the Children of Bhaal, and most of the priests wanted to kill me, or imprison me forever. So I ran away. And my name isn't Aliya... It's Esmerelle." It felt good to let the truth come pouring out, as if some of the burden was lessened. In a way, it was. She no longer had to worry about lying to Aggie, about her identity being discovered.

"Ahh. You practice half-truths like an expert! Your father really did murder, then, and no doubt he stole on more than one occasion. But why did you think old Aggie and Kittykins shouldn't know the truth?"

"You might have thought like the priests... you might have wanted to kill or imprison me."

"Bah! Those boys and their crazy ideas! If they'd had any sense they would have just sat you down and talked to you about it. Now they've got you all frightened and on the run. Chances are they'll never find you, and they've only themselves to blame for it."

"So... you won't tell them that I'm here?" she asked, almost afraid to hope.

"Of course not. I'm not fond of people tramping their horses through my forests. People should stick to their towns and their temples, and leave the forests to those that belong here, like you and I. Fear not, young Esmerelle, those priests will spend many a week travelling to Silverymoon. When they get there, they won't even remember how to find Aggie's house. And if they do happen to find it... well, I happen to know a few fey who like to play glamour tricks on the tall folks. I'm sure they'll have their fun."

"I don't know what to do," Esme admitted, her eyes filling with tears. The shock at almost being discovered had passed, but seeing Eldon so unhappy, so torn, made her heart ache. On the table beside her, the cat meowed.

"Kittykins thinks you should stay here, with us. He thinks I should teach you what it means to be a witch."

"I... I don't want to put you out, Aggie," she sniffed, wiping the back of her sleeve across her eyes to dry her tears.

"Nonsense! Kittykins likes you. The goats like you. You've already helped old Aggie with her supplies. Besides, where else would you go?"

"Would you really not mind if I stayed?"

"Of course not. We'll have to check with the fey, of course, but I'm sure they'll understand. And when Aggie's done teaching you, you'll be able to take care of yourself just fine."

"Oh, thank you, Aggie!" Esme smiled. It might not have been the life she had envisioned when she had set out from the Morninglord's temple, but it was at least a life, and therefore better than death.

o - o - o - o - o

"Is this right?" Esme asked, waving one hand in the air.

"I told you, girl, you shouldn't talk apart from the incantations! Do you want to set the whole forest on fire, or make your head explode? Try it again, from the beginning!"

Esme closed her eyes and spoke the words of the spell, making a motion in the air with her hand. She gestured as she finished speaking, her hand pointing towards one of the goats, and it froze, completely immobile in mid-chew. Smiling, she turned to Aggie. Her spells only worked half the time; the other half, they fizzled out, or ended with an unexpected result. Aggie had assured her that it was normal for spells to do that, at least for apprentices.

"Very good, very good. At least you didn't turn this one into a toad. I'm not quite sure how you managed that, last time we tried."

"I've been practising on candles in my room," she admitted.

"Ahh, I thought we'd been getting through less candles than usual! So... what's that you've perfected now?"

"From the cantrips you've shown me, I know Daze and Light. I've been working on Flare, but it still gives me a bit of trouble, now and again."

"Yes, fire can be like that sometimes. It's always so twisty. Aggie's least favourite of the elements."

"I can do Missiles with my eyes closed, and I've almost perfected Reduce."

"Ah, Reduce. A favourite of the fey, that one. How they love to make the big folks small. Or themselves bigger. One time they used it on my raspberry pie, the greedy little fiends."

"I think I've got Gedlee's Electrical Loop down, though the pronunciation of the second and third words still confuse me a little."

"That will feel more natural with time. What about Invisibility?"

"I... I haven't really practised it much," she admitted sheepishly. "Seeing through myself... it's a little unnerving."

"But still, it's one of the most useful things you'll ever learn. To become unseen is something the elves have been perfecting for millennia, but to become _truly_ invisible takes the work of magic."

"I promise I'll try harder," she said, bowing her head.

"We're glad to hear it, aren't we Kittykins? Yes we are! Aggie has had many apprentices over the years. Take heart from the fact that you aren't the worst of them."

"But not the best, either?"

"Of course not. The best are born to it, feeling magic in the blood. To say you spent ten years chanting in front of your holy book, you aren't half bad at all. But that's enough for today I think." She waved her hand and the goat became mobile once again, completely unaware that several minutes of its life had passed it by. "Shall we visit our friends?"

"I would love that," she smiled. In the two years since Aggie had taken her in, they had visited the fey many times. She had become friendly with several of them - one of the young fey men even had a crush on her, a giggling fey woman had told her - and she was slowly learning of their strange, mischievous ways. They, in turn seemed to regard her as a younger version of Aggie, and took no end of pleasure from rearranging her belongings whenever she left them alone for more than a few days at a time.

Aggie not only taught her how to cast spells, however, she also taught her to prepare potions. The witch's herb-lore was astounding; she could recognise almost any plant or tree that Esme pointed at, and recite its properties. As a result, Esme was no longer the helpless girl that she had been when she had stumbled across Aggie's home. She had not only learnt how to use the forest's resources to feed and clothe herself, but also how to cure sicknesses using potions brewed from plants and flowers. Though she still said her prayers to Lathander every morning, she began to use the divine magic learnt during her time at the temple less and less.

During those two years, there had been no sign at all of Eldon, or any of the other clerics sent to find her. She hoped that they thought she was dead, because that would be easier for everybody. But at the same time, she desperately wished she had a way of finding Eldon, of telling him that she wasn't dead, that none of this was his fault, and that she didn't blame him for anything. It was the one, single regret she had left; that she hadn't been able to tell Eldon how much she had appreciated his care, and how much she had loved him for everything he'd done for her. She knew that he'd blame himself, and even now, it pained her to think of him feeling guilty for her running away.

"Come on then, Esme," said Aggie, breaking her out of her reverie. "Go and get that pie from the kitchen, and lock the door behind you. After we're done visiting, I think we should go into the forest and pick some more herbs."

Esme nodded. Lately, Aggie had been pressing more and more knowledge onto her, and she knew why. For the past six months, the witch had been growing weaker. She slept more, moved around less, and sometimes didn't have the strength to carry Kittykins. Their twice-yearly journey to the river was now a four-day round trip, instead of two, and Esme had to carry most of their merchandise back herself, while Aggie wheezed and huffed alongside her. The witch was finally succumbing to old age, and her health failed her a little more every day. Neither of them spoke about it, but it hung like a weight over them, and Esme knew that Aggie's insistence that she master herb-lore was because the witch knew she wasn't going to be around for much longer.

It was something she couldn't bear to think about. Aggie was not only her mentor, but also her friend. If Eldon had been her father, then Aggie was her great-grandmother, doting but also firm. When Aggie finally passed away, Esme would be alone, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for that yet.

o - o - o - o - o

"Esme! Come here, child!"

Esmerelle heard Aggie's frail voice calling from inside the house, and put down the bucket of water she was using to fill up the goats' trough. The last three months had not been easy on either of them. Aggie had come down with pneumonia, and the illness had sapped at her strength day by day. Esme had done everything she could to bring the old woman through it, even calling on her rarely-used healing spells to aid the woman's recovery. But they had done little to help, and even the onset of summer, with its warmer weather, had been unable to rouse Aggie from her sickbed. Esme had taken on all of the household chores, cooking for both of them plus Kittykins, keeping the goats fed and watered, emptying the chamber pots, washing the bed linens, and brewing the potions that Aggie still expected her to make.

"What is it?" Esme asked as she entered Aggie's room. The old woman was lying propped up by her pillows. Her skin was pale and saggy, and her eyes dull, filmed over slightly by foggy cataracts. The air smelt of sickness, but Aggie complained that it was too cold whenever Esme opened a window.

"Sit down," said the witch, pointing to the wooden chair beside the bed. Esme did as commanded, then waited patiently. "My time to leave this world is quickly coming," said Aggie. Esme felt the tears welling up in her eyes, but did nothing to try to stop them. She didn't want to have this conversation. She wanted to shout at Aggie for making her go through it, she wanted to tell the old woman that she would be fine, that she shouldn't give up, but she knew neither of them would truly believe it. "Oh, don't look like that," Aggie tutted in irritation. "I came here to die six years ago, and I think I've done well to make it this long. It's clear to me, now, that I was given those extra years to help you, to prepare you for life, and I'm glad I got the chance to do it before I die."

"I think you had extra years because you're just plain stubborn," Esme smiled, and the tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Maybe that, too," the witch conceded. "But Aggie knows her time draws near, but there are some last things I want to tell you before I go." Kittykins, lying on Aggie's stomach, meowed in agreement. "First of all, you've done well. You know more than enough about plants now to carry on with the potions. They'll come in useful for you, because _everybody_ needs potions. They're the one type of magic that never fails."

"Except when I tried to use them to cure your sickness."

"You can't cure old age, Esme. It's something that catches up with us all, eventually. But I didn't bring you hear to talk about me! Now. I've lived here because I tired of the world, because I wanted to die in peace. And the forest has been good to me, and so far it's been good to you too. But this is no life for a young woman like you. I know you're scared of what's out there, scared that people will want to harm you for what you are, but you need to put your fears aside. How old are you now?"

"Nearly seventeen," she replied after thinking for a long moment.

"Seventeen! When Aggie was your age she was dangling a man from each finger! You should be out there living your life, courting handsome young men, giggling with your girl-friends. You shouldn't be cooped up here alone with nothing but the goats for company. I know it will be hard for you, but when I'm gone, you need to go too. Maybe not right away... but when the time's right, you'll know it, and you shouldn't hesitate to leave just because of some memory of me. Understand?" Esme nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Good, good. Now, there's one last thing. When I die, I want you to burn my body, here in the clearing. I don't want to be buried in the ground, where the fey can play tricks with my bones? Got it?"

Esme nodded again, and began to sob. The thought of carrying Aggie's cold, stiff body outside, of hoisting the witch onto a funeral pyre and watching her burn, was too much to handle. She threw herself across the bed, over Aggie's knee, and let the old woman stroke her hair as she cried. The tears for Aggie became tears for everything else; for her own losses of her best friend, Ali, and her father, Eldon, for her fear of being left alone, and her greater fear of the world outside. When all of her tears had finally been transferred from her eyes to the bed quilt, she raised her head and saw Aggie watching her fondly.

"There there, it's okay," said the witch, patting her arm. "It's good to get it all out. A good cry is what everybody needs from time to time. It heals the soul. Now, you leave me and Kittkins to rest. We're going to sleep the rest of the day and the night. But will you wake me in the morning? I'd like to go outside and see the sunrise."

"Are you sure? I mean, I can stay for a while, if you like."

"Nonsense. You've got far better things to do than watch old Aggie sleep! Tell you what, you go and brew up a strength-increasing potion. That should help me get outside tomorrow, and it'll keep you busy for the rest of the day; you'll have to go out and pick some fresh elecampane, because we've run out."

"Alright," she sniffed, rubbing the sleeve of her dress across her eyes. "And in the morning, I'll make you a nice big breakfast, too, so you can eat it while you watch the sun rise."

"Good girl," Aggie smiled, then settled down into her bed. Esme pulled the door quietly to, then went into the kitchen to fetch her basket. It might take her a while to find elecampane, but it would give her something to do, something that would help Aggie tomorrow. Better still, it would help keep her mind off Aggie's words. She had no idea how she was supposed to go about integrating back into the world, and right now, it wasn't something she wanted to think about.

o - o - o - o - o

She was so afraid of sleeping through the dawn that she barely slept all night. She tossed and turned in her bed, the air stiflingly warm. Even opening a window did little to help; the heat of midsummer was persistent. How could Aggie complain that this was _cold_?

Though she tried to force herself to sleep, sleep just didn't want to come. So, when at last she judged the hour of dawn near, she left her bed and lit a candle to see by, then changed into the plain green dress Aggie had bought for her last year from Master Zim. Then, she knelt down in front of her prayerbook on the bedside table and closed her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Lord, please help Aggie to get through this day. Please give her the strength to stand and walk, so that she might see your shining light grace the skies once more, and please help to give her the will to live," she said. After a moment of sitting still and concentrating, which she hoped would give her prayer the strength to reach the Morninglord, she retried the strength potion she'd made the day before from her chest of drawers, and crept silently down the hallway towards Aggie's room, candle in hand.

The creeping was force of habit. She always crept, not wanting to wake the old woman, and even now, when she knew she'd be waking Aggie up anyway, the need to be quiet overwhelmed her. She didn't bother to knock on the door, because she knew Aggie would be asleep, but went straight inside and opened the curtains.

"Morning, Aggie," she said as she tied them back. No light filtered through the windows yet, but it would soon. "You'd better wake up if you want to go outside and see the sun rising." When the old woman didn't respond, she bent down to shake her arm, which was stiff in her grasp. She jumped back, and the candle flickered, threatening to go out. She heard her own heart pounding, her throat suddenly dry, and bent down towards the old woman, holding the candle towards the bed.

Aggie's eyes were closed and her face was pale, her mouth open. She looked like she was sleeping, but when Esme put the back of her hand on the old woman's skin, it was cold. She reached down and ran her hand over Kittykins' fur; his body, too, was stone-cold and stiff, and she shrank back in horror. She had never seen peaceful death before, and in a way, this was even more frightening to her than seeing the violent death Old Mallik had suffered. What she had seen, back when she was an innocent six year old child, hadn't been true death, which was a result; it had been dying, which was a process. For the past six months she had seen the process of dying as Aggie grew weaker and weaker, and she had coped with it. But the result, death, horrified her. It made her skin crawl, made her want to flee. The woman on the bed was Aggie, but she was also not, and Esme didn't know how to deal with that. So, for a while, she simply sat on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped tightly around them, hugging herself, and watching the pale sunlight begin to shine in through the window.

With the dawn came birdsong, but she barely heard their beautiful chorus, just as she barely felt her stomach rumbling with hunger. Instead she sat, watching the body of the woman and the cat, waiting for the tears to come. But none did. Though she didn't realise it, she had mourned Aggie the day before, whilst the witch had still been alive. She had already accepted the dying, and now she had to deal with the fact that she was alone and had a job to do. At some time before midday, she finally worked up the courage to move. She left the room, opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the fine summer morning. The sun was warm, the sky brilliant azure blue, and the trees seemed an impossibly vivid shade of green.

She left the clearing and walked into the forest, stopping whenever she came across a fallen branch. When she had an armful, she took the wood back to the clearing, and dumped it into a pile, then returned to the forest again. She knew it would take a long time to gather enough wood to make a funeral pyre, but she didn't care. Every stick that she picked up was in memory of Aggie, and the care and love the woman had shown her. This wasn't a chore, it was a duty, a labour of love. She wanted to remember every branch, every twig, used in the pyre to send Aggie on her way.

"Whatcha doin', Essmee?" asked a tiny voice by her ear.

"Collecting wood," she said, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded dull and heavy, emotionless.

"What for?"

"Aggie's dead. I'm building a funeral pyre for her."

There was a sound of fluttering wings, and a pixie, no bigger than the length of her hand, appeared in front of her face. It was a pretty little fey called Buttercup - not her real name, but most pixies chose names of flowers or plants to use when dealing with humans - and her tiny features were sad.

"Poor Aggie!" Buttercup chirped. "She was sick for a very long time. But what's a funeral pyre?"

"It's a pile of wood. We but the body on top of the wood and burn it." The pixie looked aghast at her words. "It's what Aggie wanted," she added, but didn't include the reason for Aggie's desire. It might offend Buttercup.

"Well, if it's what she wanted, I'll help you!" said Buttercup. She zipped off into the forest and returned a moment later with a twig. "Where do you want it?" she panted.

"Back in the clearing, please," she said, and resumed her own search for more useful pieces of wood.

Before too long, the forest air was teeming with pixies and grigs carrying twigs of wood to and fro. A couple of them rode on the backs of foxes, encouraging the animals to drag larger branches along the ground with their teeth. A dryad stepped out of her tree with an armful of wood, to contribute to the pyre, and by mid-afternoon the pile of wood was finally big enough. Esme arranged it into what she thought a pyre should look like, trying to make the branches as stable as possible. Then she turned to face the house.

"Want us to fetch her for you?" asked a red-headed pixie called Rose, with a green-haired male pixie called Thorn by her side.

"No!" she said quickly. Though the fey meant well, the thought of Aggie's body being bounced around and manhandled by the tiny creatures was something she didn't think she could cope with. She would rather drag Aggie's body herself.

When she went into the house and made her way to Aggie's room, Buttercup, Rose and Thorn followed her, but she didn't try to stop them. Aggie tried to keep the pixies out of the house, because they were fond of pranks, but Esme doubted there would be any pranking today. She stopped by Aggie's bed as Rose and Buttercup flew down to the old woman's body, and Thorn sat on Kittykins head. It wasn't their fault. They didn't see death as humans did. They didn't know what was and was not respectful to do around a body.

"Want me to make you bigger?" asked Buttercup. "Then you'll be strong enough to carry her."

"Strong enough..." said Esme, her eyes falling on a bottle on the bedside table. It was the potion she had brewed yesterday. "Of course. It _will_ help her to go outside... just not in the way she'd thought. Thank you, but I don't need you to make me bigger," she told the pixies. "But if you'd like to do something for me, you could go into the forest and find some nuts and berries and the like. There's supposed to be a feast, at funerals, to send off the spirit of the dead."

"Nuts and berries. You got it, Essmee!" the pixie grinned. She opened the window and flew out of it with her friends behind hair, and Esme turned to the potion on the table. She uncorked it and took a sip, then placed the cork back. The effects were immediate; she felt her muscles harden, felt strength flowing through her veins, making her stronger. It was a feeling she'd felt before - Aggie had made her try every potion she'd brewed, so that she knew what its effects felt like - but this time her new strength would be put to some use.

Carefully, she picked up Kittykins and placed the cat's body on the table, then pulled back Aggie's quilt. As respectfully as possibly, she bent down and slid one hand behind Aggie's back and the other beneath the woman's knees. Her legs were straight and stiff, and when Esme stood, she found she had to move sideways to get Aggie's body through the door.

The clearing was empty now, and she suspected all of the fey had gone in search of food. They probably wouldn't find much. It was high summer now, but most of the berries and nuts wouldn't be ripe until autumn. But at least she didn't have to listen to the pixies' chatter as she laid Aggie's body down upon the pyre, straightening the woman's nightgown around her legs to make it look a little neater. Not that it mattered anymore. She returned to the house and fetched Kittykins, lying the cat's body on the woman's chest. It was only right that they be cremated together. They had, after all, lived together and died together. It was what they both would have wanted.

Now Esme was faced with a slight dilemma. Aggie had never spoken to her of gods or of her own spiritual beliefs. And though Esme knew it was usual to invoke the name of the god of the deceased during a funeral, even though she had never seen one performed before, she didn't know which god Aggie would want her to invoke. In the end, she decided on Lathander. He was the god she was most comfortable with, the only one she ever prayed to, and maybe he would take care of Aggie's soul.

She returned to the house once again and took her prayerbook from her room, then sat cross-legged in front of the pyre and began to read aloud. She wouldn't actually light the fire until nightfall, when the flames were more likely to be seen by any gods watching. She knew that rituals and prayers to Lathander were typically performed at dawn, when he was strongest, but she couldn't bear to leave Aggie's body out overnight, exposed to the elements and the wild animals... and the fey.

When at last the tiny fairies did return, they were carrying loads of fruits and nuts, held in large dockleaves, each of which carried by two pixies. They began to place the leaves on the floor beside Esme, as the goats wandered over to take a closer look at the food on offer.

"Go away! This isn't for you!" said a little pixie called Bluebell. She thumped one of the goats on its nose, and it gave her a blank look before moving off.

"We could only find strawberries," Rosie said, sitting on Esme's shoulder and resting her tiny elbow on her earlobe. "None of the other fruits were ready yet. But we stole some of last year's nut stashes from the squirrels. We kept them busy while Ivy and Thistle dug up their hoards. Then the dryad shouted at us for making such a loud noise."

"We're going to stick leaves in her hair as she sleeps," said Buttercup, settling herself down on top of Esme's head. "Do you want to help? We can make you small, and Thorn and Thistle can carry you."

"No, thank you," she said, holding up her book for them to see. "I'm praying for Aggie, and then when night comes, I'm going to light the pyre."

"Oh, your god-book," said Bluebell, peering at the page and pulling her face. "Aggie's books are much more interesting than this."

"Aggie doesn't have any books," she said, her curiosity waxing. "Her eyesight's been bad for years. She came here to die, not to read."

"Oh yes she does!" Rosie said with a grin. "She hid them, but we found them."

"Will you show me where they are tomorrow?"

"I don't know about that. Aggie didn't like it when we went into the house. She might not want us to show you were all the books are."

"That's such a shame," she sighed. "And here I was thinking that all of these strawberries would make a lovely strawberry pie for us to share. But I guess I'll just have to eat it all myself."

"Strawberry pie?" said Buttercup uncertainly from atop her head. "Well, I guess that would be okay. But these strawberries are for the feast! There aren't enough for pie and feasting."

"You could easily find more for pie, I'm sure. And then tomorrow, whilst I'm making the pie, you could get those books for me."

"I'm going to find the most strawberries!" said Rosie, zipping away from her shoulder and into the forest.

"No, I will!" said Bluebell, flying off in another direction. Thus began a mass pixie exodus, and within seconds the clearing was empty of everything except Esme and goats.

She turned her attention back to the pyre, and focused on Aggie's still body. Why did the witch want her to leave this place? Surely it was an ideal hideout for a Child of Bhaal. Out here, if she went crazy, she couldn't possibly hurt anybody, and nobody could hurt her. Sure, the house was small, but it wasn't much smaller than the one she had shared with Eldon, back at the temple.

Thoughts of the man she considered her father brought tears to her eyes. Where was he, now? What was he doing? Was he still living at the temple, in the house they'd shared together? Was he still keeping up his duties training acolytes? Did he miss her? Did he ever look up at the sky and wonder if she was looking at the same stars? Did he ever read from his prayerbook and wonder if she was reading the same passage? Or had he given up on her? Written her off as a tainted Bhaalspawn? If he saw her again, would he reach for his weapon with a look of fear and disgust on his face?

She mentally kicked herself. She was supposed to be praying for Aggie, mourning the death of the witch. But it was hard. Aggie was gone, now. It was a resolution. It was complete and final. She would never see Aggie again, but she had gotten the chance to say goodbye, to say thank you. Aggie wasn't out there somewhere, missing her and wondering about her. But she hadn't been able to say goodbye to her father. She hadn't told him how much she loved him, how difficult it was to leave him. With a sigh she turned back to her prayerbook and began reading again. Whether or not Lathander was listening, whether or not Eldon was still looking for her, she had a friend to mourn.

She read until the sun sank below the horizon and she couldn't see the words on the page anymore. The fey returned shortly after with a crop of strawberries, enough for several pies, and they left them inside the kitchen, piled on the table. When the last of Lathander's light had left the sky, she took out her fire-making kit and crouched down in front of the pile of dry leaves she was using as tinder. Within a few minutes she had a small fire going, and transferred it to lowest logs on the pile. It took some time for the fire to truly start burning, but when it took hold of the wood it grew quickly, and before long Aggie's body was consumed by flame and smoke. Esme stood in front of the fire, watching the wood burn, feeling the heat from it warming her skin until it felt like she herself would begin melting. The pixies watched the fire too, from her head, her shoulders, and her pockets.

The flames raged throughout the night, and only when dawn's rays began to light the sky did the fire die down to hot embers. Of Aggie's body there was no sign; so hot had the fire been that even the bones had turned to ash. Now, Aggie and Kittykins were well and truly gone. Only then did Esme cry for the old woman, long, heaving sobs that echoed through the forest. The pixies didn't try to comfort her. They left her alone, returning to their own homes to remember Aggie in their own, unique ways. But Esme stayed by the ashes, crying as she prayed for the soul of the woman who had saved her life.


	6. The House in the Forest

Chapter 6.

The House in the Forest

"_I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- _

_I took the one less traveled by, _

_And that has made all the difference."_ - Robert Frost

o - o - o - o - o

In the small house in the clearing some miles into the forest, Esmerelle sat curled up in a a low comfortable chair with her back to the window, making the most of the failing autumn light. It cast a reddish tinge over the whole room, and turned the pages of the book in her lap red. But she ignored the dimming light and concentrated completely on the words carefully and elegantly written on the pages.

The pixies had been right. Aggie _did_ have a secret stash of books. Books about potions, books about spells, books about history, books about the High Forest and the creatures within it. For the past three months, Esme had been pouring over them, particularly the spellbooks and the books about brewing potions. She'd discovered that she had something of a passion for potions, and she loved experimenting, seeing what new effects she could come up with, as well as trying out some of Aggie's more difficult recipes. She now had potions that could induce all sorts of magical effects. With a potion, she could make herself bigger or smaller, stronger, faster, more keen of hearing and sight. She could increase her memory, although the effects of that spell usually wore off after a day or two. And those types of the potions were simply an addition to her extensive knowledge of healing potions, built upon a growing understanding of alchemy. There was something wonderful about taking a basketful of raw ingredients and adding them together in just the right quantities and at just the right temperatures to make a liquid that was capable of fanning the dying embers of life, or repairing damage to an injured body, or ridding a person of sickness. When she'd been an acolyte, she'd been told that healing done by priests, granted by the gods, was true healing, but now she knew better. That sort of healing was cheating. The power for it had to come from somewhere, either from the person themself or from their god. But this, what she was doing now, what Aggie had taught her, was _real_. Nature gave its gifts, but it took people to decipher then and use them wisely.

The spellbooks were also of particular interest to her, because they picked up where Aggie had left off her training. Some of them were simply far too powerful for her, and after running her eyes over them briefly, she'd put them back. Instead, she'd contented herself with a book of elemental spells, which Aggie had been about to start teaching her before she was taken sick. Until then, the witch had shown her what she termed 'useful' spells - spells for making herself invisible, or charming the minds of others, or holding a body motionless in thin air, as well as some minor spells which could be used defensively. Most of the spells in the unnamed elemental book, however, were of a more offensive nature. Most likely, Aggie hadn't wanted her to learn these until she'd grown a healthy respect for magic, and she was convinced that the witch had left these books here for her to find, knowing that the pixies had already peeked at them. Just as she was convinced that Aggie had told her to brew the strength potion knowing that Esme herself would be needing it to carry her body out of the house.

There came a quiet knock from the window, and she turned in her chair to see Buttercup rapping on the glass pane with her tiny fist. Suppressing a sigh, she put her book down, stood, and lifted the catch on the window to admit the pixie. The fey _always_ seemed to have a way of knowing when she didn't want to be disturbed... and turning up right at that moment.

"Hi Essmee," the pixie chirped, flying into the room and landing delicately on the table beside the chair. Her chosen name was quite fitting; in her short yellow dress, she really _did_ look like a buttercup. She leant over Esme's cup and used her hands to pool water together, supping it down as if she hadn't drank anything all day.

"Do come in, Buttercup," she said wryly, closing the window before any more pixies showed up. "What brings you here? It's getting late, you know. Nearly my bed time, in fact."

"Oh, nothing much," the pixie smiled. "I just wanted to know if you want me to watch the house for you while you're away."

"Away? What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow is the day you go to the river to trade. Had you forgotten?"

"What, that's _tomorrow_?"

"Sure," Buttercup grinned. "T'was six of your months since you last went, right before Aggie caught that new-moania thing. Do you suppose it was the trip that made her fall sick and die? We travel the forest a lot, but we never get sick from it."

"I hadn't realised it was that time of year already," she said, sinking back down into her chair. Had it really been three months since Aggie had died? Where had the time gone? She hadn't prepared for winter at all, she realised with a growing panic.

"Yup, 'tis autumn once again," said Buttercup. "The season of plenty. You should see what's out there! Apples and pears and hazlenuts and chestnuts and blackberries and raspberries and blueberries and blackcurrants and bilberries and strawberries and goosberries and walnuts and rhubarb and all of them pie-able." The pixie licked her lips. "We noticed - and by we, I mean Thorn, of course - that you haven't really been going out picking stuff like you usually do, so we've started a collection for you. I got you lots of strawberries, because you know they're my favourite. Thorn and Thistle have been handling the apples and the pears, showing off about carrying them, just like always. Rosie has been collecting nuts from the trees before the squirrels could get them, and Daisy and Bluebell and Foxglove have spend ages picking around the berry bushes. We're not quite sure how to tackle the rhubarb yet... it might be a fox situation. Or perhaps we can trick the dryad into picking some for us. What do you think?"

"Thank you," Esme smiled at the tirade. "And please, thank the others for me, too. I'll make sure there's enough pie to go around. But I think I should start getting ready for a journey tomorrow. I'll have to use the last of Aggie's fat-cakes, and dig out the old tent from under her bed, and pack all the potions I'll need to trade..." she looked at the meagre pile of wood by the fire, and sighed. "And I suppose when I'll get back, the first thing I'll have to do is spend a few days chopping wood, or I'll never have enough to keep me through winter."

"So... you want me to keep an eye on the house, yes?" Buttercup asked with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

"The house will be fine, as always. But will you watch over the goats while I'm gone? I'd hate for a wolf or a bear to take them."

"Don't worry, we keep wolves and bears and dragons out of the clearing. We only let foxes in, because we like foxes."

"Dragons?" she asked skeptically. The pixie nodded solemnly.

"Yep! There are dragons in the forest, or so the dryad claims. _We_ have never even seen one, but maybe that's because we just do a really good job at keeping them out."

"Lucky that I have you all around, then!"

"That's what we think, too. Just look how lucky you are. When you first wandered into our forest you were cold and frightened, and I swear you were looking hungrily at yew berries, which would have killed you, you know. But now you've got a nice house with some goats and chickens and you can make magic and pie. That sounds lucky to me!"

"You're right. Will you excuse me, now? I really need to start packing... I'll have to leave at sunrise to make it to the river before nightfall, which means an early bed for me."

"Want me to make you bigger? You'd get there faster. Or I could make you smaller, and you'd get there faster too. Why do you think big things, like bears, are faster than humans, but small things, like pixies, are faster than humans too?"

"I don't know," she said, opening the window as Buttercup took to the air, her small, iridescent wings fluttering rapidly. "But I'll be sure to think about it on my way to the river."

"I hope you do. And don't worry about the goats, we won't let anything eat them. When you get back, you'll have plenty of berries and nuts, too!"

The pixie flew off, describing the types of pies she'd like to see first, and Esme closed the window again. As much as she wanted to keep reading, she knew that more important matters needed her attention for the time being. There would be time enough for reading in winter, when bad weather confined her to the house - and the pixies to their trees - but for now, she needed to plan ahead for her survival. With a last look of longing at the open pages which practically begged to be read, she closed the book and went to find the tent.

o - o - o - o - o

There was no road and no path, not even a trail, but Esme knew the way to the river by now. She strode confidently, using familiar landmarks to guide her. On her left was the forked-tree, which had been split clean in two by a lightning strike. Up ahead was the river-crossing, a place where large boulders had once been washed from upriver during a violent storm, the turbulent floodwaters carrying the bulk of the huge rocks.

This close to the fringes of the forest, the trees were mainly broadleaf; sprawling deciduous trees interspersed with long grass and brambles and ferns, and herbs. Towards the centre of the forest, the trees tended more towards evergreen; closely-packed conifers reaching straight and tall, desperate to claim even a small patch of sunlight. Esme liked the broadleaf trees. They grew up in interesting shapes. They weren't greedy. They grew outwards as much as upwards, allowing sunlight to filter through the canopy, of variable height, allowing the smaller bushes to grow along with grasses, flowers and ferns. The heart of the forest, on the other hand... the air was always still in that place, and the trees always seemed to be closing in on her. They let very little light through their canopy, and all that could grow beneath them were mosses and hardy ferns, along with plants which didn't need sunlight, like fungi. She'd only ever been into the evergreen forest with Aggie, to collect various mushrooms and toadstools and fern-spores which the witch told her were good for potions or medicines, and she'd always felt the need to hold her breath whilst in there.

By the time early afternoon had arrived, she was surprised to hear the sound of a fast-flowing river nearby, and even more surprised when she stepped out of the forest's edge to stand beside an empty dock. She hadn't expected to arrive so soon, it normally took her a full day to get here... and then she realised why. She no longer had Aggie holding her back. Free to walk at her own pace, she'd arrived with time to spare, even laden with a heavy pack full of bottles. If Master Zim was running on schedule, he wouldn't be here until dusk, which meant she had some free time.

With a smile, she started to unpack the tent from atop her pack, and managed to get it assembled in just a few short minutes. She was no longer a novice at camping. In fact, she'd come to enjoy the nights she and Aggie spent down by the river, looking up at the stars, talking about anything from alchemy to philosophy before retiring to the tent. She'd even come to relish the gentle sounds of the river, and waking up to the sounds of ducks quacking or moorhens and coots calling to their partners.

As she worked, she tried to imagine what Aggie would be saying if she was there.

_Mercy, girl, don't handle the bottles like that! Aldar Zim won't want to buy them if they're all chipped and cracked,_ she thought she heard Aggie say as she deposited her pack inside the tent, making the bottle clink together. _Here, eat another fat-cake, they're good for you. Can't have you looking scrawny, can we?_ she imagined Aggie saying as she took out one of the delicious berry-flavoured travelling cakes.

"I'm not scrawny," she said aloud as she bit into the cake. "I'm just losing my puppy-fat."

_Don't speak with your mouth full, child._

And it was true, she wasn't all that scrawny at all. Ali had always been the tall, willowy one, whilst Esmerelle, as a child, had been shorter, and a little plump. As she'd grown, most of that plumpness had gone, but her figure was quite full. _An hourglass shape,_ Aggie had said, when Esme had complained that her hips were _far_ too wide. _Wide hips mean a wide birth canal, and easy childbirth. Be thankful you're not one of those scrawny, stick-like women... I've seen them screaming in labour for days._ Aggie had always been pragmatic. _There's a silver lining to even the darkest of clouds_. And so Esme had learned to accept her body, curves and all, and Aggie had assured her that most men wanted a woman with a bit of flesh on her. Where Aggie had expected her to find men in the High Forest she did not know, but she'd stopped complaining after that.

With nothing else to do, she retrieved a book she'd brought along with her from her pack and turned to the page she'd bookmarked previously. _'A silent spell is a spell which is cast without a verbal component'_ she read, in Aggie's flowery handwriting. _'This is especially useful if you have been silenced, magically or physically, or if you want to cast a spell without anybody hearing. Be careful not to mouth the words, because if you're facing a deaf opponent who can lip-read, he'll be able to understand what you're trying to cast, and may be able counter it. Casting silent spells can be quite draining, and therefore it's best to practice them when you have plenty of free time to rest and recuperate, and only use them when the situation is dire enough to call for them. To cast a silent spell, one must simply make the appropriate gestures and focus their will into the spell. If the gesture is seen, this may also, of course, give away which spell you are casting, but it is not yet known if a spell can be cast as both a silent spell and a still spell simultaneously.'_

Esme closed her eyes and pictured herself standing in the forest, hurling around fireballs and magic missiles and shards of ice with nothing but a gesture, as the wind whipped around her cloak and her hair. Then she smiled at her own idle fancy. Magic was nothing like that; she knew from her own attempts at it. Aggie had assured her that bards and minstrels romanticised the craft because wizards and mages always made for a good story, even more so than valiant knights. At the thought of valiant knights, she rolled over onto her back and looked up at the blue sky.

"Lord of the morning," she said, clasping her hands together at her chest. "Please watch over Eldon. Please help him to understand why I ran, and don't let him blame himself. And please help Aliya with her training... I know she probably got into trouble for helping me, and she doesn't deserve it." She hesitated for a moment. "And please help Albur to become a more pleasant person."

She spent the next few hours on her back, cloud-watching. As she waited by the riverbank, she saw six rabbits, two horses, a cow, three farmers, nine sheep, one boat, two wolves, a bear, three centaurs and a dragon pass by in the sky. Then, when the sun began to set and Lathander's light faded from the world, the sound of voices and oars slapping the water caught her attention. Sitting up, she saw a boat further up-river, with several lanterns jutting out over its bow. She recognised Aldar Zim's voice as he called out orders for his men to dock, and when the boat finally bounced against the old wooden wharf, two crewmen jumped down to moor the old tub before the river could carry it away. When The Water Eagle was finally berthed, Aldar Zim himself stepped down onto the dock and greeted her with one of his usual broad smiles. His attire was, as always, almost garishly bright, but it suited his persona.

"Aliya!" he said in his jovial voice. "A pleasure to see you, as always."

"And you too Master Zim," she smiled back.

"Is Aggie sleeping already?" he asked, lowering his voice and glancing towards the tent. Esme hesitated. For some reason, she didn't want to tell Master Zim that Aggie was dead. After all, his trading had been done predominantly with the witch, and if he thought that Aggie was no longer brewing the potions, he might decide he didn't want any. If he wouldn't trade with her, she would struggle to survive the winter.

"No, Aggie's back home," she replied. "She said she's getting too old for these trips, and said that I'm now old enough to come here alone. She's sent plenty of potions, though... she's been spending a lot of time indoors recently, so you'll have an even bigger selection to choose from this year."

"Ah, old age creeps up on us all, doesn't it? Not to worry. You just be sure to give her my best wishes. Now, why don't you show me what potions you've brought with you, and then we'll see what you want for them, eh?"

In the end, she traded most of the potions for a small sack of flour and another of wheat, a new frying pan, some salt for curing meat, a new firestarting kit and some clothes more suited to a woodsman than a young woman. It wasn't that she didn't like the dress - in truth, she loved wearing it because it made her feel like a lady - but it just wasn't practical anymore. Instead, she chose a pair of long brown trousers and two pretty shirts, one blue and the other green, as well as a new woollen cloak and a pair of stout walking books. Master Zim grumbled all the while that she was going to put him out of business, but they both knew he was getting the better end of the deal. She'd given him a potion to improve his luck, and if he spent only one night gambling well, he could easily recover his losses.

Once their trading had been concluded, Esme retreated back to her tent as Zim and his men climbed back aboard their boat. They would stay moored for the night, because there was a particularly shallow, rocky patch to navigate further down-river, but by first light they would be gone, well on their way to Secomber. As Esme snuggled down into her blanket, she let the sounds of the river soothe her. This late in the evening, most of the birds were silent, and the frogs had ceased their cacophony of croaks. All that was left was the gentle lapping of water upon the hull of the boat, and it was to this sound that she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

o - o - o - o - o

The first thing Esmerelle did when she returned home was to light a fire in the sitting room. The air, though not exactly cold, was beginning to take on an autumn chill, heralding the start of winter. When she had the fire blazing nicely, which used up almost all of her remaining supply of wood, she turned her attention to her new purchases and began storing them away. The wheat and flour went into separate wooden containers, because left in their sacks they provided a tempting target for mice. She stored the salt in another container, hung her new pan on the wall beside her older pans, and then took her new clothes into her room and folded them up into her drawers.

Then she began a mental checklist. Before winter set in she'd need to chop herself a healthy supply of wood to burn. She'd need to ensure she had enough food to feed the goats, when they could no longer forage for themselves, and to replenish her supply of grass-grain for the chickens. She would have to set some traps for birds and rabbits, to supply her with meat, and spend some time collecting fruit and nuts to store before the worst of the frost got to them. Other food sources, such as carrots and potatoes, could stay underground a little longer - the frost would help to preserve them, and she could use Aggie's small spade for digging them up.

By the time night had fallen she'd planned out her next few days and cooked herself a soup of carrots, potatoes, mushrooms and onions which she'd dug up on her way back from the river, flavouring it with rosemary and thyme and salting it with coltsfoot. She used up the last of a loaf of bread that had been sitting in the bread basket for the past few days, dipping it into the soup to soften it before eating it.

The next day she dressed in her new trousers, shirt and boots, picked up Aggie's axe, and strode into the forest. It didn't take her long to find fallen wood large enough for her to use - she wasn't going to anger the dryad by chopping down living trees, but there were enough dead or up-rooted trees to keep her going for some time - and cut off the bulk of the sapling's spindly branches before dragging the trunk back to the cottage. Then she began the slow, tiring process of cutting the trunk down into shorter lengths before standing the lengths on their ends and using the axe to split them in half, and sometimes in quarters. It was tiring work, and by midday her new clothes were soaked with sweat and her arms were shaking with the effort of lifting the axe.

The arrival of the pixies, carrying between them large quantities of fruits and nuts, gave her the excuse to take a much needed break, and she spent the rest of the afternoon directing the fey creatures in depositing their loads into as many bowls and dishes she could find. When she ran out of bowls she had to use pans and plates, until every flat surface in the little kitchen held a container almost overflowing with berries. The nuts, being harder, were easier. She simply put them in one of Aggie's empty drawers in what had been the witch's bedroom. Esme still slept in her own tiny room - she hadn't been able to bring herself to move into Aggie's. It didn't feel right to her, sleeping in a dead woman's bed.

For the next two weeks she kept herself busy with chores and preparations. She cooked pies, as she had promised to the pixies, and dried the rest of the berries so they would keep throughout the winter. She chopped wood until her blistered hands could take no more, and the wood was piled halfway up the side of the cottage. What she didn't take inside to dry out by the fire she covered with a tarpaulin to protect it from the worst of the weather.

She went out into the forest to replenish her supply of herbs and raw ingredients. She dug up roots and picked legumes and mushrooms, and set traps for rabbits and hares around the clearing, and bird traps down by the nearby stream to catch ducks and geese. She harvested grass to become hay for the goats and separated the grass seeds as fodder for the chickens. She baked herself more fat-rich travelling cakes and made dry biscuits from the wheat she had bought from Master Zim.

By the time the first flakes of winter began to fall, Esme had done everything she needed to do and more. She'd worked hard throughout the end days of the autumn, and was looking forward to winter. She still had many of Aggie's books to read through, and knew that with practising magic, brewing potions and reading the books about the High Forest, she'd have plenty to keep her occupied throughout the short cold days.

The winter wasn't particularly harsh that year. Though the air was always frosty and usually below freezing, it snowed very little. On the fine, clear days, Esme loved to go outside. She often walked in the woods, sometimes with the pixies, but more often by herself. She trod the familiar paths that Aggie had shown her, and monitored the bud-growth of the trees and the plants as the weather began to warm. The fine weather also permitted her to spend her days practicing her magic, and the more she applied herself to learning, the faster she improved.

There were still potions to make ready for spring, when she would travel to the river again to trade with Master Zim, and she spent as much time experimenting with her own ideas as she did on sticking to Aggie's recipes. Sometimes the results were favourable - she once managed to capture light in a jar, and foresaw a demand for the potion in the adventuring niche, although she wasn't able to duplicate the effects no matter how much she tried - and sometimes the results were less favourable, like the time she'd tried to seal a sound - in this case, the sound of a goat bleating - inside a vial to be released at will. The result of that had been lots and lots of black smoke, and after nearly asphyxiating herself with the stuff, she'd given up on that endeavour.

She managed to stave off the worst of her loneliness by concentrating all of her efforts onto potion-making and learning from the spellbooks, but by the time spring had arrived, she was beginning to feel the effects of cabin-fever. She had never been truly alone before, and it was difficult. In the past, she'd always had people to talk to; the priests at the temple of Bhaal when she was a child, Eldon, Ali and the other priests and acolytes at the temple of Lathander, and, more recently, Aggie. Now the only people she had to talk to were the pixies, but they tended to keep to themselves in the winter. Loneliness was, however, a small price to pay for her freedom. Though she wished dearly that she could bring both Eldon and Ali here to live with her, she knew that it was just a childish fantasy. Her father and her best friend were no longer a part of her life, and they were probably better off for it.

Spring brought with it both surprises and changes. The biggest surprise was the twin kids born to one of the goats. She hadn't even known that the animal was pregnant, but then, animal husbandry had never been on anybody's list of things to teach her. She loved watching the tiny goats tumbling and frolicking with each other, though, and often spent hours just sitting and playing with them, or watching them in their mock-fights. But the goats fanned within her some tiny ember of longing. The goats had each other, they were never alone, but she had nobody. Nobody to talk to, nobody to compare notes with, nobody to play with or argue with, nobody laugh with and cry with, nobody to share her life with. She knew she was existing, but she didn't know if she was living, nor did she know if simply existing was enough.

High Spring brought with it a firm resolution. This year she would leave the High Forest, as Aggie had told her. She would find a town or a city to live in, somewhere where she could be a little person and live a little life, but perhaps make a few friends, and maybe even find a nice man who might care for her in spite of what she was. She would go to Silverymoon, she decided one day, because the old witch's words were still firmly implanted in her mind. _'Who knows, maybe she's trying to reach Silverymoon. That's what I'd be doing right now, if I was her. It may be a big city, but it's safer than the grim forest.'_ And if Aggie thought Silverymoon was the best place to go, then that was good enough for her.

But before she left, she would need to improve her skills even more. To survive in Silverymoon, she would need a trade. She could brew potions, yes, but Silverymoon most likely had a plethora of potion-makers and alchemists. She would have to become even better at making potions, and she would have to increase her magical knowledge, too. Without magic, she couldn't defend herself, and she wouldn't let herself be caught unarmed. It would probably also be a good idea to make herself a map of the High Forest, because her choice was either to leave the High Forest and go around it, or to cut through it until she hit a road. The last map she had seen had been in Eldon's house, and she wasn't sure if her memory of what lay outside the forest was even correct. Therefore, cutting through the forest would be the best idea, so she began making forays further and further away from the cottage, and spent her time making maps and looking for new ingredients for her potions.

As usual in late spring, she went down to the river and traded with Master Zim. He asked her to pass on his best wishes to Aggie, and she yet again neglected to mention that the old woman was dead. But Zim didn't seem to care where his potions came from, as long as they worked. And business seemed good for him; he'd traded in The Water Eagle for a larger, more impressive boat called 'River Vixen', and had taken on a larger crew and more cargo than ever. This time when she spoke to him, she _did_ ask for news of the outside world. And he answered her questions, telling her all she wanted to know about his trade routes and current affairs of the northern Sword Coast. It surprised her that nothing much seemed to have changed. All of the villages she could remember by name were still there, the cities were still large and mostly prospering, orc clans still troubled the lands around The Silver Marches, Luskan still harassed its neighbours whenever possible... it was all interesting, but none of it was vital information. What she _really_ wanted to know was if anybody was still looking for her, but she couldn't exactly come out and ask Master Zim if he knew she was a fugitive, or if any other Bhaalspawn had been causing trouble recently.

She feared what her half-brothers and sisters might be up to in the world, but never once did she think of them as her family. They, like her, had been spawned by a god, but that meant nothing. If she had any family at all, her family were the people who had raised her and become her friends. People like Aggie, Ali and Eldon. People who'd seen her as a person, and treated her like one too.

Throughout spring and summer she concentrated on her magic and on her potion-making, the former because she wanted to be able to defend herself, the latter because she wanted to have a trade to support herself. So focused was she on learning and experimenting, that she didn't realise how quickly time was passing, and before she knew it the trees were turning golden again and the bushes heavily laden with their ripe fruits. When she realised it was too late to start a journey, she felt disappointed that she'd let another year slip through her fingers, but never once did she consider it a year wasted, because she had improved her skills much further this year than she had the year before. And part of her was also relieved that she wouldn't be leaving the High Forest this year. She was still a little afraid of how people might react if they found out what she was.

Though she didn't know how old she truly was - nobody in the temple of Bhaal had ever celebrated her birthday - she counted herself eighteen that summer. Eldon, and the priests who had found her, thought that she was around six when they'd stormed the temple of Bhaal, which was why they hadn't even considered that she might be one of Bhaal's children. She was one of the youngest known, probably one of the last conceived before Bhaal had been killed. She'd been fourteen, turning fifteen, when she'd run away from Lathander's temple, and had spent a bit over two years with Aggie, and then a bit over a year alone. Next year she would leave. Definitely next year. Nineteen sounded like a good age to spread her wings and fly back to civilisation.

o - o - o - o - o

The winter was harsh, with howling winds and constant snowstorms. Sometimes, the snow drifted so high that it almost covered the little house, and all Esme could do was open the door to grab a pan full of snow, slamming the door closed again before the snow could fall into the kitchen. Spring seemed to take forever to arrive, and the frost clung to the trees as if daring them to put forth green shoots. But finally, Lathander's light was victorious, and the sun melted away the frost and the snow. As soon as the ground was clear, Esme began foraying into the Forest again. Only for a day, at first, but then she began to roam further afield, and sometimes she took the old tent with her, and camped out beneath the trees.

Though at first she kept to familiar paths, she eventually started to roam further afield, adding to the maps she'd started making a year earlier. It was only after her bi-annual visit to the river that she noticed her stock of herbs was running low again, so one bright, sunny morning she donned her cloak and packed her bag and tent, and stepped out of the door.

"Hi!" said Bluebell, popping up in front of her with Thorn and Thistle by her side. Bluebell was one of the smallest pixies Esme had ever seen, and for pixies, that was saying something. The tiny woman wore a short purple dress, and her gossamer wings were light blue in sheen. Thorn, meanwhile, had dark green hair, pale-green shimmering wings and wore tiny brown trousers and a brown shirt, while Thistle's hair was short and white, sticking up around his head like the head of a dandelion, and his wings shimmered purple when the sun caught them, a pleasant contrast to his white shorts and shirt.

"Oh, hello you three," Esme smiled. The winter had been long and lonely; so much so that she was even pleased to see the pixies.

"Where are you going?" Thorn asked, flittering around to examine her pack. "You only just got back from the river."

"I'm going exploring. I want to see a little more of the forest, and to restock my herbs."

"Can we come?" asked Thistle excitedly.

"If you like, but it will be boring," she warned.

"We don't mind," Bluebell grinned. "We can make our own fun. And we can protect you from the dragons, too!"

"The dragons that none of you have ever seen?"

"Because we do such a good job at keeping them away. See?"

"Ah, yes, that's right. Well, shall we be off?"

"Where to first?" asked Thorn, zipping ahead of her as she set off into the Forest."

"North, I think, to the place where the foxgloves and iris' grow."

"What do you do with foxgloves and iris'?" Thistle asked, sitting atop her head.

"I make them into potions."

"What kind of potions?"

"It depends on what effect I want. I can make them into potions that make me invisible, or make me stronger, or faster."

"We can make you invisible and stronger and faster!" Bluebell chirped.

"I know, but we big people like to do these things for ourselves sometimes." She _didn't_ reply that the potions were probably more reliable than pixie-magic, or that it came without a catch. Once you'd told a pixie 'make me bigger' or 'make me stronger', they thought of that as an open invitation to make you bigger or stronger at any time they felt like it. Being made stronger wasn't too bad, but there were times when being big was a definite disadvantage. She'd spent more than one night sleeping on the floor in the sitting room because she'd been too big to fit into her tiny bedroom.

She spent the morning travelling from site to familiar site, collecting the herbs which were starting to grow, or the perennial plants, like rosemary, which had survived the winter. She wouldn't be able to find enough to fulfill her needs until summer, but for now, she had enough to be getting on with. With what she was able to collect, she could start making potions again. It was a routine which would help take her mind off the subject of leaving, which was always lurking behind other thoughts, waiting to rear its head in her empty moments.

As she had warned, the tiny fey quickly grew bored. At first they helped her to collect the herbs, plants and roots that she pointed out, but they quickly tired of being useful, and disappeared off into the trees to explore on their own, high in the canopy, or to harass the local wildlife. Esme didn't mind. Though she was grateful for their company, she knew she could get more done without them around.

At midday she stopped by a small stream and dumped her pack on the floor, taking from it some bread and cheese, the latter of which she'd painstakingly made from goats milk. The cheese was rich and creamy, and because the small flock seemed to be growing every year, she knew that she'd soon have more goats than she knew what to do with. But that was a problem for another time. For the moment, the animals provided her with milk, and therefore also cheese, and also with their long, curly fur which she clipped during the summer, like a farmer shearing his sheep. So far, she hadn't been able to bring herself to butcher any of the animals for their meat.

As she sat enjoying her food, she lay back upon the grassy bank and closed her eyes, feeling the sun shining warm on her face. Not far away she could hear the first crickets of the season chirping, and knew that before long the dusk skies would be full of their songs. Though she hadn't seen any frogs so far, she was willing to bet that if she checked the stream, she would find their spawn floating in the water, attached to rocks and aquatic plants. The birds, on the other hand, had no such compunctions about making themselves seen and heard. Loudest of all were the chicks, which screeched and trilled for their parents to feed them. She saw a myriad of birds flitting from tree to tree as they hunted insects and beetles. The tree-tops were dominated by sparrows and their finch relatives, whilst blackbirds, dunnocks and robins populated the ground level, searching for crawling and burrowing prey. Above it all, in the clear skies, swallows and swifts caught flies on the wing, all the while avoiding the kestrel's shadow.

She was so focused on the birds and the crickets, that at first she didn't register the sound of something large moving through the undergrowth. It was only when a group of figures stepped out in front of her that she jumped up in surprise, instinctively reaching for the pack that lay next to her on the ground as she stared at the figures, and they stared back.

Esme felt her mouth go dry and her heart start hammering in her chest. Each of the figures was almost twice her size, both in height and girth, and each one carried some type of weapon; a poleaxe here, a cudgel there, and one even had a long rusty sword. They were clad in rough clothes, but wore no shoes. Instead, their bare feet, huge and powerful, were tipped with claws, as were their hands. Their bodies were fur-covered and shaggy, reddish-brown in hue, and though they walked up-right like men, they had heavy chests and a man of dark fur running up their backs to their skulls. Their heads were large, their jaws square and powerful beneath long snouts. She knew what they were, because she had read a description of them in one of Aggie's books, but she had never thought to come across one herself, much less a group of them.

One of the gnolls growled something. She didn't know what it said, but it sounded menacing, and the rest of the gnolls moved forward with their weapons raised. She reacted almost without thinking, not even bothering with words for her spells. Now, she didn't have time for words. Her situation was dire. Five bolts of magical energy flew from the fingertips of her left hand, which she had flung out towards the creatures. The recoiled, hissing in pain as their faces were hit, and before they could move forward again, Esme conjured another spell, this time on herself. She touched her own head and felt magic rippling through her body, turning her invisible. Then she grabbed her pack and fled.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. The only other time she had run this fast was when she had overheard the priests discussing her fate at the temple of the Morninglord. But now she was faster still, and barely bothered to check that her path was free of obstacles. She ran at full pelt, jumping over anything in her way, feeling her arms thwacking against tightly spaced trees as low branches scratched her arms and face. She kept on running until her lungs were burning and her heart felt like it would explode. Only then did she stop and put her back to a large tree, gasping for breath as she glanced behind.

There was no sign of pursuit. She didn't know it, but she had surprised the gnolls as much as they had surprised her. They hadn't been expecting to find prey today, and they weren't prepared for a chase. Even when they did pursue their quarry, they preferred to do so on the open plains. Their large size did not favour speed in the forests, and their polearms required space to be used. Had she known all of that, she might have been a little less terrified, a little less worried about pursuit. But she didn't know, and so all she could do was wait in growing terror for any sign of her antagonists.

It was full dark before she dared to move again, her muscles aching and complaining that they'd been pushed to exertion and then forced to stillness for hours on end. She didn't dare return home by the same route, in case the gnolls were still there, waiting for her. Instead, she took out one of her maps and glanced briefly at it to get a bearing of where she was, then set out the long way around to the cottage. The High Forest had always been her home, and though Aggie had often told her it was dangerous, she hadn't truly understood how dangerous it could be. Now, she saw her home as something unfamiliar to her, and wild, and she knew that her life would never be the same again.


	7. Camaraderie

Chapter 7.

Camaraderie

"_Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow; Don't walk behind me, I may not lead; Walk beside me, and just be my friend." - Albert Camus_

o - o - o - o - o

The trees and flowers of the High Forest were in full bloom. Huge swathes of beech, elm, sycamore, ash, yew and willow were heavy with green canopies and growing seeds. On the apple and pear trees, bright white blossoms attracted myriad insects, and the birds which stalked the tiny pollinators. Occasional cherry trees stood out from the rest because of their pale pink flowers, with only the bluebells coating the forest floor beneath them able to match their vibrant colour.

Everywhere Esmerelle looked, the land was showing signs of flourishing, and it exuded an aura of peace and tranquillity. She was wary, though, and did not completely lower her guard. It had been two weeks since she had encountered the group of gnolls in the place where she regularly went to gather herbs. Their presence, even though she had come away from the encounter unscathed, had shaken her confidence and destroyed her complacency. She had long thought of the Forest as home, but had rarely encountered intelligent creatures within it, other than the fey and, once, a small group of centaurs.

For the first week after her encounter with the gnolls, she had barely left the house, too afraid that they would return in larger numbers. Then the need to move and be useful began to grow, and she was driven by her own restlessness back to the Forest. On her first foray she went back to the place where she had fought the gnolls and camped there overnight, to prove to herself that she could. Now she was travelling in the opposite direction, to more unfamiliar territory. She rarely came this way, but her curiosity about which trees and herbs grew further away from the house eventually got the better of her, and she knew that even in the places which were familiar, she would never be truly safe again. It made her a little less afraid of the rest of the Forest.

She'd spent the night nestled in her sleeping roll beneath a great oak tree, and was now halfway into her second day of walking with no edge to the forest in sight. Aggie had told her that the High Forest was 'very big', but she had no idea just how big it was. She still had some niggling fear that Eldon and the other clerics of Lathander would find her and take her away, but had she known that the High Forest was five hundred miles across and just as long, and that even if Eldon had wanted to return to Aggie's cottage again he would never have found it because the fey liked hiding it, she might have been a little less worried.

When the sun was halfway to the horizon, she followed the sound of water to a nearby stream and sat down on the banks. Dipping her canteen into the cold clear water, she refilled it then brought out a packet of small, fat-rich cakes which had dried fruits and seeds baked into them. A single cake provided enough energy and nutrients to last half a day; Aggie had taught her how to make them, as well as how to preserve other foods, how to skin animals for their hides, and how to find her way by the position of the stars.

As she ate, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander as she listened to the sounds around her. Most prevalent was the sound of stream running over the riverbed. On the far bank, a frog was croaking regularly, though she couldn't see it. Above her, the breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, making them whisper to each other. Oblivious to the whispering of the trees, a variety of birds sang their songs; a robin, hidden deep with a blackberry bush, sang his solo territorial warning. A pair of chaffinches performed a duet in the treetops, and on the ground, where beetles and bugs scurried around the leaf-litter, a family of sparrows sang as a group. A lone song-thrush performed a beautiful tune that wove itself around the rising and falling notes of a flute...

Her eyes flew open, her heart pounding in her chest. She ignored the birdsong, the whispering of the trees, the babbling of the stream, focusing all of her attention onto the flute. For a brief moment she wondered if she'd been mistaken, if perhaps all she'd heard was the song of some unknown bird. But there was nothing natural about the sound she heard now, and although she didn't recognise the tune being played, she knew it wasn't bird-song. It was too steady, too rhythmical, too man-made. But who could be out here? Some people _did_ call the High Forest home... a few elves and gnomes, the centaurs and gnolls, some groups of orcs, and beasts such as unicorns and pegasi, as well as treants and satyrs, but none of them were given to flute-playing, although she sometimes heard the satyrs playing their pipes.

She decided it was better to know who was playing the music, and she quickly packed up her bag before hoisting it over her shoulders. Though she didn't know the exact direction from where the music came, she knew it was from somewhere upstream, so she followed the watercourse until it disappeared into the ground in a natural spring. The music was stronger, now, and she thought she could even hear faint voices, drowned out by the sound of the music. Slowly, she continued, moving as quietly as she could, placing her feet carefully so she stepped on no fallen twigs and tripped over no vine-like brambles. When the voices grew louder she slowed even more, and silently took cover behind a clump of large, leafy ferns. Carefully, she moved aside a large leaf, and peered out at the scene in front of her.

These people _definitely_ weren't satyrs. They were a motley assortment of folks and looked about as different to each other as people could get. The music was coming from a flute being played by an old man. His hair was grey, as was his long moustache, and she watched as his fingers, as gnarled as old oak roots, moved fluidly up and down the length of the instrument. He was wrapped in a green and blue patterned cloak, and his clothes were of a pale green colour, with black boots on his feet. On the floor in front of him sat a brown-haired half-elven man wearing a shirt of chainmail and thick leather trousers. At his hip was a short-sword, sheathed in a leather scabbard. His boots had been removed, and one trouser leg had been rolled up to expose a bandage, through which a patch of red blood had seeped. The bandage was being tightened by a tiny blonde-haired halfling woman with twinkling blue eyes, who wore skin-tight dark grey clothes beneath a light set of leather armour. Her skin was tanned brown and her nose and cheeks were liberally sprinkled with freckles. Also on the floor was an armour-plated dwarf. His long dark brown beard had been braided, and his dark brown hair was fastened back into two plaits. On the floor beside him was a shining hand-axe, but his focus was entirely taken up by the open book in his hands, and his lips moved silently as he read. Not far away, an elven woman was sitting cross-legged on the ground with her eyes closed. Her long black hair fell straight and loose down her back, and was kept out of her face by a leather headband adorned with beads and feathers, which was fastened around her forehead and tied at the back. She wore little in the way of clothes, opting for brown leather shorts and a dark green shirt, but her skin was covered with a variety of tattoos in green, brown, black and ochre. Around her shoulders was a heavy fur cloak, which was covered with patterns made from shells, beads and feathers. Across her knees lay an intricately carved wooden staff some seven feet long, and her hands were resting upon this. An elven man with long brown hair and honey-coloured skin stood over her, with his arms crossed over his chest, and whenever his green-brown eyes drifted down to the woman, a smile played across his lips. He wore thick leather armour and a bow was strung loosely over his back.

"I told you we should have stuck to the roads," the half-elven man complained, wincing when the halfling woman was a little rough with his leg. "Now we're lost, I'm injured, and we're barely even into the Forest."

"I don't get lost," said the standing elven man. "It would take far too long to reach Everlund by road and trail. This way is faster. Trust me."

"Last time you said 'trust me' we ended up being short-changed on our job."

"The ways of humans are still strange to me." The elf looked a little chagrined.

"Which is why I told you to let _me_ make all the arrangements. But the gods forbid you actually have a little faith in me."

"I do have faith in you, but I know you too well. I warned you not to go into that cave. The bear could have killed you and Kiree both. If you weren't too busy trying to show off, you would have seen the signs that showed the cave was inhabited. Instead, you took a foolhardy risk and with nothing to show from it."

"For your information... ow, damn it, Kiree, can't you be a little more careful?" the half-elven man growled at the halfling. The diminutive woman held up her hands in a gesture of defeat.

"Stop complaining, Duncan," said the elderly man. The music had died away as he'd removed the flute from his lips, and now the air felt strangely empty, as if a childhood friend had disappeared. "Daeghun's right, it would have taken far too long by road, and the roads themselves aren't exactly what I'd call safe right now. We'll see more than enough action once we're assigned to a caravan, and until then, it's better to make haste and be safe. Besides, I need to find a new song, or an old one, to play before we reach Everlund, and the High Forest is full of songs just waiting to be discovered."

"Always with the songs," said the half-elf, rolling his eyes. "Why can't you pick a craft that somebody actually pays you for, like painting?"

"For how much longer will we have to endure Duncan's whining, Shayla?"

The elven woman opened her eyes; they were as blue as sapphires and seemed to shine with an inner light. "Patience, Lucas," she said. "The spirits of this place are ancient. I will need time to persuade them to lend me their strength."

"We could just chop it off," the halfling woman grinned. "Before it gets gangrenous, you know. What do you say, Belvar? One swing of your mighty axe should do it."

"If I thought it would stop him complaining," the dwarf said with a snort, "I'd've done it myself already."

"Really funny, all of you," the half-elf grumbled. "I'm so glad you're sympathetic."

The conversation turned to small-talk, and Esmerelle studied the people more closely. From what she'd seen and heard so far, she'd been able to glean several interesting facts. The old man with the flute was obviously a musician, and the others seemed to hold him with some regard. The elven man and his half-elven companion didn't seem to get along that well, and it seemed to be an ongoing issue between them. The elven woman must be some sort of healer, and if she could communicate with spirits, perhaps she was a witch, like Aggie. Esme had no idea if the elves counted witches amongst their number, and it was true she'd never heard of elves dressing so strangely, but anything was possible these days. Where the group had come from she could not tell, but if they were going to Everlund to be 'assigned' to a caravan, they were probably guards, or mercenaries. In her mind, the former represented authority and the latter danger, and she was loathe to deal with either.

A quiet scuffling noise above her caught her attention, and she slowly turned her head to the birch tree beside her. There, sitting on a branch and watching her intently, was a squirrel. That in itself wasn't so strange. Squirrels were quite common in the Forest, and they were naturally curious and cautious creatures. But this was no ordinary squirrel. It was wraith-like and insubstantial. Esme could see right through its body, which had a feint blue glow about it.

"It seems we're not quite alone here," said the elven woman. There was a blur of movement from the group of people. The elven man had drawn an arrow on his bow and he looked around for something to aim at. The dwarf's book had been dropped and the short man now stood with his legs planted firmly apart, the axe hanging with feigned casualness from his right hand. The halfling was on her feet with a shuriken in each hand, and she swivelled her head from side to side in a bird-like fashion. The old musician had also proved spry despite his age; he leapt to his feet and drew a short sword and a dagger in one fluid movement, and his flute was now inside a pocket of his shirt. Even the injured half-elven man had drawn his sword, though he couldn't stand. The only person who hadn't moved was the elven woman; she still sat calmly on the floor with her hands resting on her staff.

"Come out, child," the woman called. "We won't hurt you."

"Speak for yourself," growled the dwarf.

Esme knew there was little she could do. Either she could run, in which case they might chase her, or she could show herself, in which case they might hurt her despite the elf's assurance. But if they wanted to hurt her, wouldn't they have done so already? They probably wouldn't have waited for her to come out on her own. She decided to take a chance, and slowly stood up, stepping around the fern with her hands up and palms facing out, to show she held no weapons.

"Bah! A girl!" said the dwarf, dropping his axe to the floor and retrieving his book. "You had me thinking we were being stalked by more bloody orcs."

"What are you doing here?" the halfling demanded angrily, waving a shuriken in the air. "Spying on us? Come to steal from us while our guard's down?"

"Of course not!" Esme replied indignantly. "Stealing is a sin in the eyes of Lathander."

The halfling grinned and slipped the blades into a sturdy leather belt pouch. "Glad you think so. I hate competition. I would have had to kill you, you know."

"This place is far from the roads," said the old man. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," she replied, deciding honesty was best in this situation.

"Alone?"

"Do you see anybody else with me?"

"No, but you could be the front for bandits or thieves. Or you could be a creature of magic, come to lull us into a false sense of security."

"Don't be so paranoid, Lucas," said the injured half-elf. He flashed her a smile. "The young lass doesn't look much like a bandit, and since she appears to be one of Lathander's faithful, that's good enough for me."

"What you call paranoia, I call common caution and common sense. It's something you've always lacked and probably always will," the old man scoffed.

"What is your name, child?" asked the elven man, stepping forward before the pair could begin arguing. She eyed him warily, but she sensed nothing but genuine curiosity in his question, and she saw no reason to lie.

"Esmerelle," she said at last.

"Well met, Esmerelle. I am Daeghun. As Shayla said, you have nothing to fear from us. I am curious; how is it that you came to live out here all by yourself?"

"Daeghun," said the elven woman, Shayla, with a warning note in her voice. "Leave the poor girl alone. I'm sure we gave her quite a scare, tramping around her home, brandishing weapons at her. I would not be so forgiving, had somebody done the same to me."

"It's okay," said Esmerelle quickly. "I live over a day's walk from here. You're not intruding. I'm just glad you're not gnolls."

"Orcs _and_ gnolls," said the dwarf without looking up as he turned a page in his book. "And I thought this was the safer route."

"I don't know about orcs, but I met a group of gnolls a couple of weeks ago. And Bu... I mean... I once heard that there are dragons living in some parts of the forest, too."

"Last time I'm listening to you. Ever," said the half-elf to Daeghun.

"What happened to your leg?" she asked.

"I was gored by a bear whilst protecting Kiree," he replied, nudging the halfling with his elbow. The tiny woman was almost knocked off her feet. "She wanted to explore a cave for treasure and didn't realise a mother bear was nursing her cubs inside. I'm Duncan, by the way."

"And that bear must have gored your brains, too," Kiree said with a glare. "Because the way I remember it, you were the one who begged _me_ to go cave-exploring with you."

"Would you like me to take a look at it?" she asked.

"What, you're a healer?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Of a sort."

"Then by all means, see what you can do. The only other option is waiting in pain until the spirits grant Shayla the strength to heal me."

She stepped cautiously forward and knelt down beside the man. With as much care as possible she began to unfasten and unwind the bandage, then examined the wound. It was more than just a goring; the bone had been cleanly fractured, and although it had already been set back into place, the fracture line could still be seen. The injury was clean, though, and she doubted it would become infected.

From the bag she carried on her back she took out a vial of powder and mixed it into her bowl with water. When she had a thick paste, she applied it to Duncan's leg, trying her hardest not to hurt him. She'd never actually treated anything but animals with one of Aggie's cures before. When she'd finished with the mixture she took a small bottle of oil from her bag and put a few drops onto a clean piece of cloth. She wiped around the wound with it, then sat back and began hunting through the bag for some willowbark.

"What are you using?" asked Shayla. The elf had approached silently during her ministrations, and was now watching her.

"Comfrey and whitewillow for the bone injury, and lavender oil to keep the area clean. I have some willowbark and hyssop that I can use to make tea for the pain. It will make him sleepy but the leg will heal faster if he's asleep."

"Why do all healers treat their patients like they're not even there?" grumbled Duncan.

"Where did you learn herb-lore?" Shayla asked.

"From my grandmother," she replied, thinking quickly. "She died a couple of years ago."

"And you've been alone ever since?"

"Pretty much."

"Most young women," said the old man, Lucas, "would think about moving to a town, rather than staying alone in the wilderness. Why did you decide to live alone, instead of seeking out company? The High Forest is dangerous, you know."

"It might be dangerous, but at least it's an obvious danger. At least you don't have to worry about people turning against you or trying to use you or stab you in the back."

"Such a jaded opinion for one so young. I've decided I like you, Esmerelle!"

"You should continue treating Duncan," said Shayla. "As you say, the body heals faster whilst it is resting, and I don't think it would do us any harm to stay here for the night. If you think it's safe, that is."

She felt herself blush at the woman's insinuation that she knew best. "Unless the gnolls come back, it should be safe enough. Though to be honest, I never usually come this way. The area is quite new to me."

"In that case, I will go and keep watch," said Daeghun, picking up his bow. "I will go a few hundred yards east. Kiree, will you go west?" The halfling nodded and trotted off into the forest. "And Lucas..."

"I will sit here and play my flute, and hope that Esmerelle has something in that pack of hers for aching joints. You've already taken my horse from me, Daeghun, don't ask me to spend the whole night watching , too. Besides, nothing will get past you and Kiree."

"I will send Ashara north," said Shayla. And suddenly, the incorporeal blue squirrel appeared on the woman's shoulder.

"Very well, a'maelamin," said Daeghun, bestowing a small smile upon her.

"And that leaves south for me," said the dwarf; Belvar, Esmerelle recalled. He put his book away, picked up his axe and strolled into the forest. Lucas, meanwhile, had taken out his flute and began playing the song that he'd started previously. It sounded familiar to Esmerelle, but it wasn't anything she could put her finger on.

She worked silently for a time, setting up her small portable tripod and building a fire beneath it. She measured out willowbark and hyssop into a cup and brought it slowly to boil, allowing it to steep before giving some to Duncan. After a time he lay back on the ground using his coat as a pillow, closed his eyes and drifted slowly to sleep. When his breathing was finally steady and rhythmical, Esmerelle turned her attention back to the others. The sky had darkened without her even realising it, and soon it would be twilight. Lucas was still playing his flute, though more often than not the song faltered and he went back and repeated parts, changing them and experimenting. Shayla, meanwhile, had resumed her meditative posture, with her legs crossed and her eyes closed.

It had been so long since Esme had last spoken to somebody, other than the merchants, that she felt she ought to have dozens of questions about the world outside of the Forest, about where these people were from and where they were going, about anything at all, really. But she realised it didn't matter. In the morning, these people would be gone, and she would be alone again.

She turned her attention to the meditating elf. The woman was beautiful; compared to her, everybody else in the party looked plain and washed out. She seemed unconcerned by her comparative state of undress, and didn't even seem particularly bothered about sitting still on the hard earth for so long.

"Is there something you wanted to ask?" the elf said without opening her eyes.

"Err, no," she stammered, embarrassed at being caught staring. "Well, yes. I just wondered... is the squirrel I saw earlier your familiar?"

Shayla opened her eyes and smiled. "No. Wizards and sorcerers have familiars, but there are no wizards amongst my people, and few sorcerers. I am a shaman, and Ashara is my spirit-guide."

"I thought there were lots of elven sorcerers and wizards?"

"Not amongst my people, Sy-Tel'Quessir. The wild elves. Most are hunters or warriors."

"Is Daeghun a wild elf too?"

"No, he is a wood elf, though he was raised by my people. Duncan is his half-brother, and was raised amongst humans, so he understands their ways better than we do."

"Do Daeghun and Duncan have spirit-guides too?" she asked, looking around for other ethereal animals.

"No. Only my people have spirit-guides, or other shaman."

"What does a shaman do? Is it anything like a druid?"

"A little. We draw our strength and our powers from nature, but also from the realm of spirits. The best of us can walk dreams and interpret the will of the spirits of nature."

"Where are the rest of your people?"

"In the Kryptgarden Forest, some two hundred miles or so from here."

"Why did you leave them?"

"I am on my Journey," she smiled. "All Shaman must undertake the Journey. Most choose to wander alone, undertaking tests of strength and will in order to learn the wisdom of the spirits and the land. When I left, Daeghun came with me, and we decided instead to wander together, to explore the world and the people in it. I've seen much, since leaving my people."

"How long have you been travelling?" she asked, resting her hand on her chin.

"Nearly forty years."

"Forty years? You don't look that old!"

"Thank you. But elves don't age as humans do. I'm much older than that. I'm almost as old as Lucas, in fact," Shayla winked.

"I heard that," said Lucas, lowering his flute. "Just be thankful you've aged gracefully. Arthritis is no fun, I can tell you."

"Do your joints ache much?" Esmerelle asked, remembering his words to Daeghun.

"Not so much in summer. It's winter that gets me the worst. When the weather's cold and wet I like nothing more than to sit in an inn earning a living by playing songs. I just like to remind the fair folk amongst us that age is less kind to humans than it is to them."

"What's the furthest place you've travelled to?"

"Hmm, let me think. The furthest from here would be Calimshan. I've roamed the Sword Coast from the Spine of the World right down to Calimport, and back again. Took me five years to get from north to south, with many stops along the way. And another two and a half to get back to Waterdeep, where I met Daeghun and Shayla here sharing drinks in a tavern with Belvar."

"What's Waterdeep like?"

"The City of Splendors? I could tell you a thousand tales about the place. Do you want to hear of merchants or of the Masked Lords, or of the Undermountain which lies beneath the city, or of the magnificent harbour which houses powerful warships, or of..."

"Waterdeep is a large, crowded, expensive human city," said Shayla dismissively. "On the first day Daeghun and I arrived there, several ruffians tried to take our belongings. I was forced to be violent."

"And what's in Everlund?" she asked, remembering the conversation earlier.

"Ah, you were listening to that, were you?" said Lucas with a smile. "The only thing in Everlund is work. It's how we earn our living, mainly. We escort merchants around the Sword Coast, protecting them from bandits, orcs, trolls... and pretty much anything else that comes at us, really."

"You're mercenaries, then?"

"Not exactly. Mercenaries, you see, mostly care about money. And whilst it's true that Kiree does care mostly about money, the rest of us have set our sights a little higher. Shayla's on her Journey of discovery, of course. Duncan wants to be a hero. Belvar's a scholar, and I'm here for my music. If you want to learn, or make a name for yourself, you have to travel, you see. And whilst travelling, if you can make a little money to afford a nice room with a warm fire, then all the better!"

"And what's it like in the rest of the world, outside the Forest?"

"I couldn't possibly sum it up in less than a life-time," said Lucas, his blue eyes twinkling. "But what about you, young Esmerelle? Where are your parents? Surely you can't have lived with your grandmother your whole life."

"My parents died when I was very young," she said, trying to sound sad. Then, she thought of Eldon, and she didn't have to try. "I don't remember them. My grandmother raised me, and taught me as much as she could before she died."

"Don't you ever get lonely?" Shayla asked.

"Not really. I have the f... I mean, I generally keep too busy to be lonely."

"Perhaps you'll join us for supper, Esmerelle," said Lucas, his jovial voice now lightening the darker mood.

"Are you sure? I'd hate to intrude. I was thinking of going back home."

"Nonsense! Night time is no time to be wandering around dangerous forests. After all you've done for Duncan, you are amongst friends here."

"Thank you," she said, feeling a broad smile cross her face.

It seemed the group of friends had hunted recently, because from a large pack that was lying on the ground beside Duncan, Lucas took out a pheasant which had been plucked and bled. He spent a few moments spitting it and suspending it over his tripod, then began rooting in the pack, muttering under his breath.

"Why can I never find thyme when I need it?" he said. "In every sense of the word."

"I have some you can use, if you like," she offered. "I picked it fresh this morning."

"Do you use thyme in any of your potions, or just for flavouring food?" Shayla asked.

"For food, mostly. You seem to know a lot about herbs and plants too. Do you make potions as well?"

"Sometimes," said the elf with a small smile. "I use special combinations of herbs to induce visions. It is one of the many ways in which a shaman can become more receptive to the spirits, and it is a way to help know oneself."

"Visions? Really? What sort of things do you see?"

"Personally," said Lucas, "I see a pheasant that is cooking without any seasoning."

"Sorry," she said, handing him her packet of thyme as a guilty blush coloured her cheeks. But she noticed him smiling beneath his long moustache.

"What I see," continued Shayla, "depends on the herbs I use, the mood I am in, and my aim during my vision-quest. Sometimes I receive memories, as I do when I trance... sleep..." she amended, noticing Esme's confused expression. "And other times, the visions are more surreal. I may travel the land as an animal or walk the realm of the spirits. It differs each time."

"Are vision-quests something anybody can do, or are only shaman allowed to do them?"

"Anybody can undertake a vision-quest. Not everybody wants to. It can be... intensive. Sometimes Lucas partakes of a vision quest with me, but the only other one of us to try was Duncan, and he only did it once. I don't think he liked what he saw, because he won't do another and refuses to speak of what he saw."

"Do you think he had a bad experience, like a nightmare?" she asked, gazing at the still form of the sleeping man.

"I don't know. But vision-quests always show you the truth, in one form or another. Sometimes the truth is a very hard thing to face. The bravest of men, who will fight a dragon or a demon armed with nothing but his sword and his courage, may flee in fear when confronted with the truth of himself."

"Enough talk!" said Lucas, withdrawing a small harp from another backpack. "You and Esmerelle can be the first to hear my latest song. I finished it as we left Llorkh, but the time wasn't right to play it then. Tell me what you think."

As Lucas' fingers began to travel over the strings, gently plucking with far more grace than she'd thought his old hands would have been capable of, Esme sat back and watched him across the fire. The notes rose and fell clearly, each one clear and defined, separate from its predecessor and successor, but at the same time, joined to them. She was so mesmerised by his fingers on the strings and the gentle tune, that when he started singing in a clear but quiet voice, it felt as if he always _had_ been singing. The words skipped straight from his mind to her heart, seeming to bypass her ears entirely.

_ "High upon the mountain tops,_

_ I hear your song carried by wind,_

_ The gentle lilting of your voice,_

_ The hidden meaning of your every word,_

_ And I wait by the fire_

_ For my heart's desire._

_ Through the forest and field it winds,_

_ Neath the cloudy skies of grey,_

_ Following the serpentine rivers,_

_ Echoing like a sigh through the empty valleys,_

_ And I wait for you,_

_ For my one love true._

_ Betwixt the cities and the towns,_

_ Inside sparkling gems of old,_

_ The cobbled streets hear your voice,_

_ One by one, the people stop to listen,_

_ And I wait for your touch,_

_ I miss it so much._

_ The day will soon come when you'll follow your song,_

_ Sailing by night upon high seas,_

_ With naught but stars and hope to guide you,_

_ On that day, you will come back to me,_

_ And I wait at home,_

_ You are never alone."_

By the time the song had finished, Esme realised that warm tears were rolling down her cheeks, pooling in her eyes, making her vision blurry. She took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, and felt silly for crying in front of these people who were practically strangers. But the song was so beautiful... she couldn't help it. It was so sad, and yet so filled with hope, and yearning, and it seemed to awake in her long-repressed feelings of loneliness.

"That was beautiful, Lucas, as always," said Shayla with a smile. "Who were they originally?"

"I don't know," the old man said with a sigh. "Maybe a fisher woman waiting for her husband to return after becoming lost at sea in a storm. Maybe a soldier sent off to battle in distant lands, while his love waited at home for him. Or maybe it's something older than that. Maybe it is from the Retreat, when your cousins returned to Evermeet, yet some were left behind. All I know is that it was real love, the sort that is rare and special and more dangerous than all the dragons in the land."

"Do you mean to say that song was about _real_ people?" Esme asked, pocketing her handkerchief again.

"Yes. Songs about real people are the best kind. Whoever they were, they lived a long time ago. Their bones are likely naught but dust now. But people have a way of leaving impressions behind... and the land has a way of remembering. Most bards are content to make up new songs, but the best of us... we find old ones. That's one of the reasons I sometimes go on Shayla's vision-quests. It can make the process of connecting with the land around me, and of finding songs buried beneath years of history, a little less time-consuming."

"Do you hear songs everywhere you go?"

"Sometimes. The places where emotions run strongly are easiest, because the imprint is stronger when the emotion is stronger. It's one of the reasons I hate visiting old battlefields. Too much anger, too much fear and violence..." He shuddered. "I should like to visit the Anauroch some day. It's said to be large and empty. The songs there will either be extremely beautiful or extremely dull."

"What's the best song you've ever discovered?"

"Hmm. Hard to say. 'Best' is very subjective. But one of the most inspiring is a song I found about two brothers who loved a beautiful woman. They both asked her father for her hand in marriage, and he granted it to both of them, because they were from a rich family, and he hoped to marry his daughter off to one of them. But he was a greedy and petty man. He knew that when each brother learned that the other had asked for the same woman's hand, they would fight for her. And they did. They arranged to duel at dawn, and the whole town turned out to watch. But just before the duel could begin, the younger brother, Alain, turned to look at the woman - who was crying because one of the men she loved was about to be killed - and her father, who was trying to hide his glee at his good fortune, and he realised that this woman and her father were not worth the life of his brother. He gave up his claim to the woman to save his friendship with his brother, and expected his brother to immediately jump at the chance to marry the woman. But the elder brother, Tirrin, then realised that his younger brother was wise and selfless, and that they had almost allowed a woman to divide them, to break them apart. And what's more, he saw that it was the woman's fault, because if she had simply made up her mind about who to marry, she could have saved bloodshed, for the brother not chosen would surely have stepped back. So the brothers left, neither of them marrying the woman. In the end, they married twin sisters. The girls were simple farmer-folk, but each loved her husband dearly, and understood that the bond between family should not be sundered by love, but strengthened by it."

"How can you get so much detail about that song, and yet not even know who the people from your first song were?"

"He cheated on the song about the brothers," said Shayla.

"It's not cheating," said Lucas with a huff. "It happened quite recently, only a lifetime or two ago, so after I heard some of the song on the street where the duel was to take place, I began to ask around. It turned out the story about the brothers was told often in that place, although nobody had put it into song form before. I got most of the details from the townsfolk."

"You live such interesting lives," Esme sighed wistfully. In comparison, her own life was frightfully dull, even _with_ the pixies for company.

"It's not all sunshine and roses," Lucas assured her. "We travel a lot and work hard and fight hard. We sometimes go hungry and have to sleep rough in all sorts of weather. We see people hurt, and sometimes we see them die."

His words weighed heavily on her, and there was no more discussion for the rest of the night. When the pheasant was cooked, Esme took a piece of it, and when both Lucas and Shayla said that it was okay for her to stay the night with them, she took out her sleeping roll and blanket and crawled inside, beside the small fire. Before she closed her eyes, she looked again at Duncan, to reassure herself that he was resting peacefully. Content that he wasn't going to wake up in pain in the middle of the night, she closed her eyes listened to the fire crackling, and the quiet, indiscernible whispers of Lucas and Shayla talking quietly. Were the two discussing her, or something else? Not that it mattered either way. After tonight, these strange, interesting people would be gone, but at least she'd have the memory of meeting them, and that would be enough to keep her entertained for another year. Twenty seemed like a good age to leave the High Forest.

* * *

A/N: If you're wondering what Lucas' song sounds like, look for 'Animusic - Aqua Harp' on youtube, and it's similar to that. I love the sound of the harp, and have the utmost respect for harpists. I wish I could play, but my short little clumsy fingers just weren't designed for string instruments, so I restrict myself to woodwind.


	8. Departure

Chapter 8.

Departure

"_You can't have a better tomorrow if you are thinking about yesterday all the time."_ - Charles F. Kettering

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning, Esme was woken by the dawn chorus. A gentle breeze blew her hair, chilling the exposed skin of her face, and she gave a small shiver and tried to pull her blanket further up her body. When she heard somebody grumbling quietly behind her, her eyes flew open, wide with surprise. Then she remembered where she was, and who she was with.

She sat up and looked around. Shayla was lying still on her back on the other side of the fire with a fur-covered blanket covering her slender body. Belvar was snoring quietly, wrapped in his own blanket not far away, but of the others there was no sign. Then she heard the grumbling again, and turned to find Duncan fiddling with the bandage on his leg, muttering to himself under his breath. His skin looked flushed and his eyes were bright, and she recognised the beginnings of fever within him. She slipped her blanket from her body and tiptoed towards the half-elf, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake the others.

"Is your leg still hurting?" she whispered.

"Hurting, itching, burning... you name it, I've got it," he said irritably.

"I'd like to take another look at it."

"Maybe I should just wait until Shayla can heal me. Not that I don't appreciate your attempt, but it doesn't seem to have done me any good."

"You should let Esmerelle continue to treat you," said Shayla, sitting up and watching them.

"Fine, fine, look at my leg as much as you'd like," Duncan grumbled.

Esme knelt down beside him and unfastened the bandage, unwinding it carefully so as not to hurt him. When the wound was exposed to the air, she looked at it critically, probing the area around the injury gently with her fingers. Duncan winced, but seemed to be trying to put on a brave face.

"What's wrong?" he asked when she'd finished scrutinising his leg.

"It's infected," she said. "Did the bear that attacked you have a dear or pig carcass in its cave?"

"I don't know, I just saw bear. Why should it make a difference?"

"If the bear had recently killed, it might have transferred something from its prey to you. Cat scratches tend to get infected easily because of that."

"You're not going to have to amputate my leg, are you?" he asked, his face pale and his light brown eyes wide.

"No," she smiled. "But this is beyond my potions, now."

She leant forward and pressed her hand against his leg, near the site of the injury. Then she whispered the words of a healing spell, feeling magical energy being channelled through her body as it flowed into Duncan. She could _feel_ the wound begin to knit itself together, and the bone fracture begin to fuse. When she pulled her hand away, all that was left was a small scar that belied the seriousness of the injury taken.

"You should be well, now," she said, and watched him tentatively standing, gradually transferring more weight onto his formerly damaged leg. Then he looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and irritation on his face.

"If you could've healed my leg all this time, why didn't you do it yesterday when I was almost bleeding to death and before it got infected?"

"Because it's always better for a body to heal itself internally, and because my first instinct was to treat you with medicine, not healing magic."

"Ah well, at least I'm back to normal. I'd better go deliver the good news to Daeghun. Which way did he go, Shayla?"

"East." Duncan took a look at the sky and set off in the direction of the rising sun. "You cast spells like a priest," said the elf, turning her sparkling blue eyes on Esme. "And yet you do not look like a priest, or talk like a priest. Is this something else your grandmother taught you?" Esme glanced down at the snoring form of Belvar. "Don't worry," Shayla said. "Belvar is a warrior, he has learnt to sleep anywhere, and through almost any noise you can imagine. He won't wake for a while yet."

"I lived with priests, for a while," she admitted. "After my parents died, they took me in. From them I learnt how to heal, and how to cast other magics, channelling energy granted by Lathander to his faithful. Later, I lived with my grandmother, and she taught me about magic and potions. Though I think I'm better at potions than I am at magic."

"You have accomplished much, and at such a young age. How old _are_ you, Esmerelle?"

"Nineteen, nearly," she said after a moment's thought. The elf nodded.

"Yesterday, I saw maps in your backpack. May I see them?"

"Why do you want to look at my maps?"

"From what I saw, they are maps of the High Forest, and we wish to travel through it. But we have never been in the High Forest before, and its paths are unknown to us. With the help of your maps, we might pass through it quickly."

"I suppose so," she said, retrieving her pack from beside her bed and taking the scrolls of parchment from it. She lay the first one down on the ground, spreading it out with her hands so that Shayla could study it.

"What does this show?" the elf asked, gesturing at the map in general.

"The area around where I live, and the way to the river."

"The river is behind us. We must go forward. Do you have anything that shows the way ahead?"

"Yes. Here." She took out another scrolled and unrolled it to show a large swathe of deciduous forest. The map ended two thirds of the way up the page, which had been left blank.

"You haven't finished this map yet?"

"No, and I don't intend to. North of here is the core of the forest. I've only been into it a few times with Agg... my grandmother, to find ingredients for our potions. It's very dark in there, and it feels like the trees are watching you. And not in a good way, like when the dryads watch you."

"You've seen dryads in this forest?" Shayla asked. She sounded a little surprised.

"Only one who lives near me."

Crouched on the ground, Shayla rocked back to rest on her heels as she looked at all of the maps. Her long black hair tumbled down her back and around her shoulders. Bereft of her thick fur cloak, the elf looked much smaller, much less daunting, but no less impressive.

"Why did you make all of these maps?" she asked.

"I hope to leave the High Forest some day," she admitted with a guilty blush. "I started thinking about it a couple of years ago, after my grandmother died. But I always seemed to find a reason to stay. I thought the maps would help me to explore and find my way through the forest. I thought I might travel to Silverymoon, to make my living there selling potions."

The elf studied her, and Esme felt her blush deepen. She hadn't intended to say so much about her ambitions, but something in Shayla's demeanour seemed to drag it out of her.

"You should come with us," Shayla said at last.

"What? Come with you?"

"Yes. We're going to Everlund, which is just south of Silverymoon. Your maps can help take us some of the way, and we can travel through the heart of the Forest together. "

"I... thank you for the offer, but I'm not sure if I am ready yet. I mean... I didn't leave home planning to leave forever. And I still have much to learn before I live amongst people again."

"And what better place to learn it than travelling with us? We have been to Silverymoon many times. Lucas can tell you all about it, and we can give you names of people there who can help you settle down and find somewhere to stay until you find your feet."

"Can I think about it?" she asked.

"Of course. But think quickly. Now that Duncan is well enough to travel, we will be moving on today."

Their conversation ended with the return of Duncan, Daeghun, Lucas and Kiree a minute later. None of them looked the worse for their night of comparative sleeplessness, and she realised that these people were probably quite used to deprivation. They probably didn't see beds or hot meals too often. She didn't envy their lifestyle in the slightest.

"Somebody should wake Belvar, so that we can break fast together before continuing on our way," said Daeghun with a glance for the sleeping dwarf.

"I'll do it," Kiree grinned. She bent over and tugged Belvar's plaited hair. "Wake up, you old tramp!" she shouted in his ear.

"Tramp?" he grunted, shooing the halfling away. "At least you're in the company of your own kind, then."

"Esmerelle," said Daeghun, turning to her. "Duncan told me what you did for his leg, and I am grateful to you. Would you break fast with us today?"

"Thank you, I'd love that," she smiled, feeling a warm glow encompass her along with his praise.

"There'll be no more cave-exploring from me," said Duncan, sitting beside the dead fire as Shayla began to build it up again.

"There's a promise that will last as long as it takes you to see the next cave," snorted Lucas.

"How did you even escape from the bear at all?" Esme asked. "Looking at how bad your leg was, I doubt you were up for running."

"We... ah... played dead until Shayla found us and soothed the bear," said Duncan.

"Played dead?"

"Bears will chase anything that runs," Daeghun explained. "And they can climb trees, too. The best way to survive a bear attack is to drop and play dead."

"But only if you're facing a defensive brown bear," Shayla added. "A bear that is hunting you, and many black bears, will continue to attack even if they think you are dead. Duncan and Kiree were lucky that the bear was acting defensively, otherwise they would be dead by now."

"I still say the best way to survive a charging bear is to cleave its skull in twain with an axe," said Belvar.

"Which would result in _me_ having to placate angry forest spirits."

"Regardless," said Lucas firmly as he began passing around hard biscuits, whilst Kiree poured tea-leaves into various cups, "in the end, no harm was done. Duncan and Kiree are alive, the forest spirits are not angry with us, and Esmerelle has been very impressed with my music. The situation could be a lot worse, so let's simply say thank-you to any gods watching over us and let the matter drop."

"You're right, Lucas," Duncan sighed. "I'm sorry, Kiree, for almost getting you killed."

"And I'm sorry, Shayla, for insinuating that killing the dumb animals is always the best course of action," said Belvar.

"That's better," said Lucas.

"Now that we're ready to move again," said Shayla, "you should all know that Esmerelle wishes to travel to Silverymoon, so I have invited her to travel with us to Everlund."

Esme almost choked on the mouthful of biscuit she was swallowing, and ended up in a coughing fit. Why had Shayla told them about that? She hadn't said that she'd wanted to go with them, yet! They were, after all, practically strangers to her. She tried to say as much, but was drowned out.

"An excellent idea," said Duncan with a smile. "It never hurts to have another healer around, and somebody who knows the High Forest is just a bonus." _But she wasn't a true healer, and she didn't know most of the forest!_

"I'm always glad to travel in the company of folks who appreciate the art of fine music," said Lucas. _But she didn't know the first thing about music, she just thought his song had been nice!_

"That sounds like a wise plan to me," added Daeghun. "There is safety in numbers, after all."

"When we get to Everlund, you can come to the music hall with Lucas and I," said Kiree with a smile. "None of these other uncouth barbarians are interested much in the arts. You'd think they were born in the back-end of nowhere."

"I _was_ born in the back-end of nowhere," said Shayla. "And I've told you before, I have no problem with the arts, it is the dress code I refuse to adhere to. Why should I have to put on some frail silk dress and flounce around like a moon elf if I want to listen to music and poetry?"

"Forget the arts," said Belvar. "You can help me in the library. They won't let me take books out, so I have to do all of my research inside, and an extra pair of eyes goes a long way."

"Thank you, all, for your generous offer," she said, holding up her hand to stem the tide of conversation. "But I haven't decided if I want to go yet. I mean... I don't know if I'm ready for it. I've been alone for so long... I'm not sure if I'm ready to be around people again."

"But the longer you stay in the High Forest, the longer you'll be alone, and the harder it will be for you to get used to living amongst people," said Lucas. "And Silverymoon is quite large. It has over forty-thousand people living in it, from many different races."

"Esmerelle," said Shayla gently, the elf's blue eyes boring into hers. "There comes a time when every fledgling must leave its nest. If it does not leave, it will slowly starve and die. But if it leaves, if it can jump and remember how to fly before it hits the ground, then it can learn to soar and taste freedom. I will help you remember to fly, if I can. We all will. But we have to leave today. You can come with us, or you can stay, but if you do stay, when it comes time for you to finally leave, you will have to do so on your own."

Shayla was right, she realised. She'd been putting on leaving for two years now, telling herself that she needed to be better, stronger, more self-reliant. But all she was really doing was delaying because she was afraid of the world outside the High Forest, afraid of the people like Albur who might want to kill her for what she was. Meeting these people, gaining their help, was an unmissable opportunity.

"I will come with you," she nodded, allowing herself a smile to hide the fear she felt at finally committing to leaving. "But first I have to return to my home. I have goats tied and chickens cooped... I couldn't leave them to starve. And I also have more clothes back there, as well as pots and pans, and some food that we might find useful on our journey through the forest."

"Then we will come with you, and help you pack and prepare," said Daeghun.

"Thank you," she said, grateful that she wouldn't have to carry everything she wanted to bring herself. "All of you. Thank you."

o - o - o - o - o

Lucas limped along at the rear of the group as Esmerelle led them back towards her home. The young girl had set a fast pace; now that her mind was made up, she seemed to want to get leaving over and done with. Not that he could blame her. He himself was never fond of long goodbyes, or of melancholy brooding. He was lucky to have found himself with a group of people who were so like himself. Well, mostly.

"So, how old are you?" he heard Duncan asking as the man strode beside Esmerelle. Lucas shook his head. He would have to keep the girl close to him, for the next couple of weeks. She could do a _lot_ better than Duncan.

He silently cursed himself when he realised he'd forgotten to keep limping, and quickly dropped back into the habit. It was always good to have an identifiable feature. Most people who saw him remembered his long white moustache and his rather pronounced limp. But a white moustache could easily be changed with dye or a little illusionary magic, and a limp was the easiest thing in the world to lose, when it was feigned. None of his friends thought anything of the limp - they all knew it was for show - but it didn't hurt to keep up the practise, even when away from civilisation.

He slapped the side of his neck, squashing a horse-fly that seemed to have mistaken him for a horse. Flies were an unfortunate occupational hazard, as were cold nights huddled in a blanket and hunger pangs. Those sorts of things were much easier to ignore when he was younger, but he still tried his best. Besides, he wasn't as old as most people thought him; it was just that time hadn't been very kind to him.

It was almost dusk, now, and Esmerelle had assured them almost an hour ago that her home was close by. He wanted to ask what her idea of 'close' was, but thought better of it. The girl still seemed quite shy and a little nervous. It would probably be best not to push her too far until he knew her better, and had gotten a good measure of her personality.

When at last the light of the sun began to face, and seeing became difficult, Esmerelle led their group out into an empty clearing, and gestured at the grass in front of her.

"This is it," she said, smiling and walking forward. Nobody else followed her. Surely she couldn't live in the middle of nowhere, could she? He was about to ask her where her house was, when she stopped, and turned to look into thin air. "Thank you. I've missed you too. I hope no dragons have been by whilst I've been away?" she said.

By now, he wasn't the only one who was confused. Belvar and Duncan were exchanging puzzled looks, whilst Daeghun looked around at treetops and Kiree rubbed at her eyes. Shayla, meanwhile, was concentrating on Esmerelle. Then, the elven woman's head swivelled around to a spot in the air less than a yard from her body. She narrowed her eyes, and struck out with her hand to grasp at something in the air.

"Don't hurt him!" Esmerelle cried, taking a step towards Shayla. "Please, you'll make them angry. You really shouldn't make them angry!"

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt... him," said Shayla, looking at her own empty hand curled around... nothing. "I may not be able to see you, but I can sense you, and I don't appreciate you bewitching my mind, or that of my friends. I'm asking you nicely to remove your magic."

"It's okay," said Esmerelle to the air around her. "They're my friends. They're not here to hurt us. You can let them see. I promise, it will be okay."

And as if by magic, a small house appeared in the clearing. A stone well stood in front of it, and several goats were tethered to a peg in the ground within easy reach of a water trough. At the side of the house, protected by its over-hanging thatched roof, was a chicken coop, with several of the noisy birds out scratching at the dirt. In the banks of the clearing were small, dark holes; rabbit warrens, he realised. And the air around Esmerelle was full of tiny fey creatures, of the same type as the one Shayla held in her firm grip. The tiny man had dark green hair, and his thin, gossamer wings flapped rapidly as he struggled in the elf's grip.

"Please, let him go," Esmerelle pleaded with Shayla. The elf complied, and the little creature immediately flew to the girl, landing on her shoulder.

"She grabbed me!" he huffed indignantly in a squeaky voice.

"Why did you bring big people back here, Essmee?" asked another pixie, this one a woman.

"Because I'm going to leave the Forest, and they're going to help me."

"But who will make us pie when you're gone?" another pixie cried.

"And who will feed the goats and the chickens, and chop wood for the fire, and go to the river?"

"And who will make potions that explode and create smoke everywhere?"

"I'm going to miss you all," Esmerelle said with a smile. "But I have to go. It's time for me to go back to the big people. To go back to my own people, and make friends there."

"But _we're_ your friends," said one of the pixies with a sulk on his face.

"And you always will be. But before Aggie died, she told me I had to leave when the time was right, and this is the right time to go. I'll leave the house open for you. You can still pick berries and make pie. You've seen me do it plenty of times."

"What about the goats and the chickens?" asked the pixie on her shoulder.

"I'm going to let them go."

"But the bears and the wolves will eat them!"

"Or the dragons!" added another pixie.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But it's not fair to keep them penned anymore. If I'm going to be free, so should they. I'll take whatever eggs the chickens have laid while I've been gone, then set them free."

"We can do that for you, if you want to go and pack," Duncan suggested. Esmerelle shook her head.

"Thank you, but this place has been my home for nearly five years. I'd like to do these last things myself. Would you all mind just waiting here while I pack a few things?"

"Of course not," said Daeghun. "Take your time."

When Esmerelle disappeared into the house, the pixies followed her, and Lucas took the opportunity to sit down on a nearby log that had obviously been used as a seat in the past. He surveyed the clearing with his critical eye. The cottage was small but homely, and there was a sense of peace about this place. He could quite easily imagine staying here, living in the house, going out into the forest every day to listen for songs.

"What was all that about?" Kiree asked, dumping her own pack on the floor and sitting on it. "One minute there was nothing, and the next there was all of this."

"Pixies can use their own form of magic to hide themselves," Shayla explained. "They can choose to make them seen to certain people whilst remaining hidden from others. And they can also hide other things from view, too."

"This is a very strange place," said Belvar, running his thumb over the sharp edge of his axe. "Very strange."

"Hey, you, grabby big-person!" said a tiny pixie who materialised out of thin air. When Lucas peered more closely at her, he saw that she was wearing a dark blue coloured dress.

"I think she's talking to you," Duncan said, nudging Shayla with his elbow.

"Yes? What is it?" the elf replied.

"You better take care of Esme, or else!" the pixie warned.

"Of course we'll take care of her. She has helped us, and we will help her in return." A second pixie appeared beside the first.

"And don't let the bad men find her," the fey man warned.

"What bad men?" Shayla asked.

"You shouldn't have told them about that," said the pixie woman angrily. Then, both pixies disappeared again. Shayla shook her head, and sighed.

"What do you think that was about?" Kiree asked. "Who do you think 'the bad men' are? And why would they be looking for Esmerelle?"

"I don't know," said Shayla. "But whatever it is, we must allow Esmerelle to tell us in her own time. We shouldn't mention this again. Not in front of her, at least."

Everybody nodded, and seemed to put the pixies words out of mind, but Lucas' interest was piqued more firmly than ever. He'd never been able to pass up a mystery, which was how he had met Shayla, Daeghun and Belvar in the first place. Elves and dwarves sharing drinks amicably was a strange sight even in Waterdeep, and he'd seen _many_ strange things there. Esmerelle, he suspected, was somebody with a lot of secrets. He would, eventually discover what secrets they were, but there was no rush. Events had to be allowed to play out naturally. Some mysteries could not be forced. And sometimes, in forcing them, you did more harm than good. He knew that from past experience.

* * *

A/N: Playing dead doesn't work for polar bears either.


	9. The Rising Dark

Chapter 9.

The Rising Dark

"_I have always tried to be true to myself, to pick those battles I felt were important. My ultimate responsibility is to myself. I could never be anything else."_ - Arthur Ashe

o - o - o - o - o

Esme walked in the centre of the group, between Kiree, who was in front of her, and Lucas, who was behind. Shayla was leading the way, by following one of Esme's maps, and Duncan was behind her. Belvar was behind Lucas, with his head buried firmly in a book, and Daeghun brought up the rear, his bow held but not yet tensed.

It was their second day of travel from her house, and they were still at least a day, if not two, away from the core of the forest. There hadn't been much conversation, recently. Esme didn't particularly feel like talking; in her mind, she was still dwelling on leaving the place she had known for the past years as 'home'. It was well and truly done, now. The goats and chickens had been released. She'd never get them back. With nobody living in the cottage, the fey would stop visiting and protecting it. Without the goats to keep back the seedlings, the forest would slowly consume both the clearing and the house. In a couple of decades, only ruins would be left. Maybe adventurers would one day find it and wonder who might have lived there.

Sensing her melancholy mood, the others respected her wishes and left her in peace. Belvar had been reading non-stop; how he managed to read and walk without tripping or crashing into something was a mystery to her. Lucas was working on a song, humming to himself, muttering words under his breath. Shayla was engrossed in the map, and Duncan was engrossed in trying to make sure Shayla was reading the map correctly. Kiree was busy whittling at a branch with a knife, and Daeghun's attention was entirely on the forest.

"How long will it take to reach Everlund?" she asked quietly, hoping that either Kiree or Lucas was paying enough attention to hear and answer her.

"If we average thirty miles per day," said Lucas, "which is something we generally only do on clear, straight paths, not when tracking through dense, trail-less forest, then we will be in Everlund in another seven days. In reality, it will more likely be ten days or more before we reach it."

"I didn't know it was so far away. Is the Forest truly the fastest way to get there?"

"It depends where you're going from. If you start off from Waterdeep, it's faster to travel by boat, up the Dessarin as far as Yartar, and then to travel the rest of the way by road. But we were travelling from Llorkh, which is due south-east of Everlund."

"Isn't Llorkh part of the Zhentarim?" she asked, remembering some dimly recalled lesson about local politics.

"Yes. But they still need to trade, and that was where our last caravan was going. Besides, I wanted to see the Greypeak Mountains, Belvar wanted to visit what passes for a library there, and Kiree wanted to find out what the Llorkhan nobles keep in their pockets. Whether this way to Everlund proves to be faster is yet to be seen. We've already lost one day of travel with Duncan getting himself mauled, and another day and a half by returning with you to your home. Please, don't look guilty over it. You've more than made up for any delay, not only with the things you've given us, but by your company."

She smiled at him. She liked Lucas. He was always so open and friendly, and he answered every question she asked of him without complaint. She liked Shayla, too. She couldn't put her finger on _why_, but there was just something innately likeable about the elven woman. Though she wasn't too sure about what to think of the other members of the group. Kiree seemed nice, and reminded her of Ali; both had been quick-witted and humourous, easy to laugh and smile. But the woman was a self-admitted thief, and she didn't seem guilty about it in the slightest. Stealing was a sin, everything that Esme knew told her so, and she just couldn't reconcile her conflicting opinion about the little woman.

Similarly, Belvar seemed friendly at times, but he was also given to surly moods, especially when his reading was interrupted. He didn't seem to mind Esme tagging along with the group, but he didn't go out of his way to make her feel welcome. On the opposite end of the scale, Duncan seemed a little _too_ eager to please. He reminded her of a puppy, always bouncing around, trying to make everybody happy, not realising his attention could be overwhelming at times. Luckily, Lucas was usually nearby to distract Duncan whenever he got too eager about assuring her how welcome she was to travel with them for as long as she liked.

And that left Daeghun. It was hard to believe he and Duncan were brothers - or at least, half-brothers, anyway. They were almost complete opposites. Where Duncan was cheerful and outgoing, Daeghun was quiet and... if not withdrawn, then at least very private. He didn't talk much, and although he'd made her feel welcome, she also felt like he was watching her, reserving judgement on her, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.

"Something is wrong."

At Shayla's words, Esme looked up and saw the elf had stopped. Immediately, everybody tensed, reaching for weapons. Esme's only weapon was the mace she'd kept from the day she'd left the temple. But it was a weapon she didn't truly know how to use, so instead she readied words of power in her mind, ready to silently unleash magic should the need arise.

There was nothing but silence all around. No sound of something large moving through the undergrowth, no sign of gnolls or orcs, or of any other enemy waiting to attack, and she wondered what had caught Shayla's attention. Then she realised it was exactly the _lack_ of sound that had made the elf stop. The birds and the insects had fallen quiet, and the sound of the leaves rustling in the afternoon breeze seemed louder than usual.

"Ashara," said Shayla, and the ethereal squirrel appeared on her shoulder. "Go up into the trees and tell me what you see."

The squirrel dashed off, leaping up onto an elm and scampering for all the world like a real squirrel would. When it reached the higher branches, and became outlined against the sun, Esme lost sight of it, and was forced to look away by the intensity of the sunlight. But she didn't have to wonder for long. Ashara didn't return, but Shayla moved forward again, trotting along with a sense of urgency. Everybody followed, and Esme was pleased that she could keep up. She would have hated to slow everybody down.

The smell of burning reached her nose first, and for a moment she wondered if another house was nearby, and how she could have missed it on her previous excursions. Then she noticed a blackened tree in front of her, and not far away, saw flames licking at yet another growing sapling. Fear seized her heart. Forest fires could be lethal, and it hadn't rained for almost a week. All around, trees were burning, and the worst of it seemed centred upon a large sycamore, tall and majestic. The huge tree's trunk was not only burnt with scorch-mark, but it had also been hacked at by some sort of weapon, and bore the slash-marks of several blades.

Shayla closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her head, a fleeting expression of pain crossing her face. "Everybody get back into the undamaged trees," said the elf. Esme let Lucas guide her by the arm back into the unburnt forest, and they crouched down behind a large rock to watch Shayla. The woman was now standing in the centre of the burning area with both hands on her staff, which she held vertically in front of her, the bottom end touching the ground. Her eyes were closed, and her face held a look of intense concentration.

"What's she doing?" she whispered to Lucas.

"I don't know, but we'll find out soon."

It didn't take long for them to find out at all. The wind quickly picked up, and blew for what seemed a lifetime, gradually gaining strength and intensity. Esme had to wrap her cloak around herself and keep it clasped in her hand to prevent it from blowing everywhere, but she could do nothing about her hair, which the wind whipped around her face, stinging her skin with the strength of the gale. Shayla seemed to be ignoring it, though. Standing still with her eyes closed, she didn't seem the slightest bit disturbed by her cloak billowing around her body, or her hair lashing at her face. Then Esme realised that several of the rune-like carvings on the elf's staff were glowing blue with power.

Before long, clouds began racing across the sky overhead, first light, wispy cirrus clouds, then larger, denser stratus clouds, followed then by heavy nimbus clouds. The sky darkened, as towering cumulus clouds began to block out the light of the sun, and then they turned grey, releasing heavy raindrops heralded by a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder so loud that Esme felt it echoing around inside her head.

The forest around them began to sizzle and steam as they rain slowly worked to quench the fire. It was slow, at first, but the rainfall increased until it was almost coming down in sheets. By this time, Esme had given up trying to keep herself dry. She was soaked, from head to toe, from cloak to underwear. Only when the fires had gone out completely, and the trees had ceased to give off steam and smoke, did the rain finally abate. Sodden and chilled, she helped Lucas to stand, and together they made their way through the mud to where Shayla was standing. From another clump of trees came Duncan and Daeghun, and then Kiree and Belvar appeared too. But Shayla ignored them all; she stepped forward, towards the large sycamore.

"We mean you no harm," she said aloud. "We are friends, and we don't want to hurt you. Please, show yourself. Let us help you."

Esme wondered who Shayla was talking too. Then, a dryad appeared, lying nestled in the upper roots of the tree. The dryad had always been there, she realised; it was just that before, she had simply appeared to be park of the tree itself. Shayla hurried to the dryad's side, placing a hand on the creature's brown shoulder when she tried to rise.

"Lie still," said the elf, and her words seemed to quiet the dryad. Esme crouched down beside Shayla.

"Is she hurt?" she asked, looking closely at the dryad's body for any sign of injury. It wasn't the same dryad who lived near the clearing where Aggie's house had been built, but there was something familiar about her brown, coarse skin and her grassy green hair and hazel coloured eyes.

"She's dying," Shayla said quietly. "This is her tree, and it has been damaged too extensively. Within a few days, it will be dead, and so will she."

"I could try healing her..."

"It won't help!" Shayla said angrily. Then her voice softened. "I'm sorry. I know you only want to heal, to fix what is wrong, but you can't. From the moment a dryad is born, she forms a bond with a tree. They grow together, and their lives become as one. The dryad becomes an extension of the tree itself. But from that moment on, from the moment the bonding takes place, neither can live without the other."

"What happened here?" Daeghun asked her. Shayla turned to look at the dryad. The elven woman nodded her head several times, shook her head, and gently squeezed the dryad's arm.

"I promise, we will find them, and make them pay for destroying the trees," Shayla said at last. Then she stood, and finally faced the rest of the group. "Dhaerow."

"Here? In the High Forest?" Belvar spat, hefting his axe. "Well, we'll be fixing that, won't we."

"We won't," said Shayla. "I will."

"But Shayla," said Lucas gently. "Surely you can't expect us to wait behind while you go off alone hunting drow."

"I can, and I do. But I will not be alone; Shevarash will be with me tonight."

"As will I," said Daeghun. Shayla looked at him for a long moment, then finally nodded.

"The rest of you, set up camp a short distance away from this carnage and wait for us to return. We'll be back before sun-rise."

"At least let me come, too," said Belvar. "You don't even know how many you're going up against."

"The dryad said five, which makes them a small raiding party. They won't be expecting resistance, and up here, on the surface, we will have the edge over them. Thank you, but this is something Daeghun and I must do alone."

"Bah, have it your way!" he grumbled, and stalked off into the forest.

"I'll go and talk the humour back into him," Kiree said, and followed.

"I don't suppose you'll let me come?" said Duncan. "I'm your half-brother, after all."

"Not this time, Duncan," said Shayla. There was a gleam in her eyes that made Esme shudder. "Wait for us in the forest."

And with that, Shayla left, with Deaghun behind her, his bow tensed. Duncan stared after them for a moment, before his shoulders slumped a little, and he turned in the direction of Kiree and Belvar.

"What was all that about?" Esme asked, feeling thoroughly lost.

"Let's go and find the others, and get a nice warm fire going," said Lucas, leading her back into the unburnt trees. "When I've dried out a little, and my teeth have stopped chattering, I'll tell you all about it."

o - o - o - o - o

"The first thing you have to understand," said Lucas, several hours later as they sat around a roaring fire, "is that elves don't do things in half measures. When they go to war, it's war that lasts for centuries and makes anything that humans or orcs can do look like child's play in comparison. And when they hold a grudge, it's a grudge that lasts for millennia, passed down from parents to children."

"Only thing my parents ever passed down to me was the family's amulet heirloom," Kiree said with a wink.

"Many thousands of years ago, the elves all lived together in peace and harmony, in several great empires. Foremost among these were Aryvandaar, the empire of the sun elves and ruled by one major house; Vyshaatar. Their realm stretched from here to the Dessarin river in the west. Second in strength and numbers was Ilythiir, an empire that once stood to the south-east, in what is now known as desolate Shaar. Ilythiir was an empire predominantly of dark elves, who are now called drow. Next was Miyeritar, a land of dark elves and sylvan elves - which are now wood and wild elves - that stood just south of here, in times when the High Moor was not a moor but a beautiful and verdant forest, and hope to the elves of Miyeritar. Shantel Othreier was another land, home to sun elves and moon elves, but their numbers were less numerous than most of the other kingdoms. Keltormir was another vast empire, one of moon and sylvan elves, and at the height of its power, spanned the lands we now call Amn, Tethyr and Calimshan. And last was Illefarn, an empire small in size compared to the others, but great in the number of sun, moon and sylvan elves who lived within its borders. Its great city, Aelinthaldaar, stood where now stands The City of Splendors, which we know more commonly as Waterdeep."

"Illefarn was, in more recent times before its decline, a joined nation of elves, humans and dwarves," Belvar added. "But back then, during the Crown Wars, it was just elves who lived there."

"No need to confuse her," said Lucas, irritable about the interruption. "Anyway. The elven nations lived in peace with each other for a long time, but it was greed that sparked the first Crown War, and set into motions the wheels of bloodshed. The elves of the Vyshaan clan, the ruling faction in the Aryvandaar empire, discovered that they were distantly related to the ruling family of Miyeritar, and they began to believe that the Miyeritarans should submit to their own rule. Naturally, the dark and sylvan elves of Miyeritar resisted, and at first, the exchanges between the two lands were diplomatic, but eventually, the Aryvandaarans began to run out of patience. They gathered their army and marched on Miyeritar, intending to take it by force. They succeeded, but pockets of resistance still existed.

"Meanwhile, far to the south, the Ilythiiri used the invasion of the sun elves' annexing of Miyeritar as an excuse. They in turn invaded their smaller, neighbouring kingdom of Orishaar, which was inhabited mainly by moon elves and was only very loosely allied with Aryvandaar. The elves of Miyeritar gained some help from Illefarn in hiding from the Vyshaatarans, but Illefarn declared itself neutral, and would not fight back for fear of bringing the wrath of Aryvandaar down upon itself. The elves of Aryvandaar, meanwhile, began to see both the Miyeritarans and the Ilythiiri as threats. To end the Miyeritar resistance, their High Mages used terrible magic to bring about a deadly, toxic storm in Miyeritar territory. Though a lot of the elves fled, many were killed, and this began to anger the other elven races. The Miyeritarans went into hiding; some to Illefarn, some to Keltormir, others simply ran as far as they could.

"The Aryvandaarans, fresh from their conquest of Miyeritar, turned their attention next to the nearby empire of Shantel Othreier, and demanded that they submit to Aryvandaar rule. They resisted, as the Miyeritarans had, but were eventually overwhelmed and their land annexed by the greedy Vyshaans, who were now under the influence of Malkizid, a fallen solar who had attempted to betray Corellon Larethian to Lolth. And the Ilythiir, unknown to others, had begun to worship dark gods, such as Lolth, Ghaunadaur and Kiaransalee.

"Fearing for their lands, and moon elves and sylvan elves of Keltormir withdrew deeper into their own lands, leaving Aryvandaar and Ilythiir to battle each other. When it became known that the Ilythiir had abandoned their worship of the Seldarine and turned instead to darker gods, many High Mages from Illefarn, Aryvandaar, Keltormir and Shantel Othreier used elven high magic, backed by Corellon Larethian himself, to banish the Ilythiir from their lands. All dark elves, whether or not they were Illythiir, whether or not they had made pacts with devils at the behest of Lolth, were turned into drow, and cast down into the Underdark to live in exile. Following that, Corellon took a hundred elves from all empires and bade them live in Elven Court, to discuss their actions and to negotiate a peace. After much deliberation, they decided that it was the Vyshaan clan who had instigated the entire Crown Wars - for there were five Wars in total - and that the Vyshaans should be held accountable. But one of their spies was listening, and fled the Elven Court to warn the Vyshaans of what was happening.

"By now, they were bent on achieving power by any means possible. They ordered their armies to invade Illefarn, and then began the systematic destruction of any mage powerful enough to stand against them. The other elves were weary with war, and disgusted by their own actions. The last of the elven lands, both free and under Aryvandaaran rule, united, and aided by the fact that even the Aryvandaarans were sickened by the insanity and lust for power in the minds of their rulers, they overwhelmed the Vyshaan armies and executed its leaders.

"In three thousand years of war, the elves had managed to undo everything that they had spent millennia creating. Never again would the elves hold such power. Many high elves - eladrin, in their tongue - left Faerûn for their fabled Evermeet, though some remained in Illefarn, and others built Evereska and Cormanthor. The sylvan elves roamed freely for a time, with only a few leaving with their eladrin kin for Evermeet. The wood elves built Earlann and other small city-states, and lived their for a time, whilst the wild elves became wanderers and built Suldanessellar, which is only inhabited for a small part of every year. But everything the elves later achieved, even their great city of Myth Drannor, paled in comparison to what they had had and destroyed. And for that reason, all elves hate the drow, and many sylvan elves, like Shayla and her people, are not particularly enamoured of the eladrin, either, for it was they who turned their home of Miyeritar into the toxic waste of the High Moor."

"So Shayla and Daeghun went after the drow because of some vengeance thing?" Esme asked.

"Shayla went after them because of some vengeance thing," said Duncan. "Daeghun went to make sure Shayla doesn't get her throat slit by drow assassins. He doesn't really give a damn about any of it, you see."

"Elves as a whole are very touchy about the subject of the Crown Wars," Lucas said. "Especially sun elves. Best not to mention it again, especially not around Shayla or other elves you might meet in Everlund or Silverymoon."

"What are Shayla and Daeghun going to do when they find the drow?"

"Kill them. Does that disturb you?"

"I've never killed anyone before," she said, feeling a chill from within pass over her flesh. "Murder is a sin in the eyes of Lathander."

"It's not really murder," said Belvar. "You saw what those drow did to the dryad and her trees. They did that for no other reason than it pleased them to see a creature suffering. It's what they'd do if they came across any surfacer, be they man, woman or child. Drow are evil. We're just lucky we found this group before they could leave the forest and hurt somebody else. Even if Shayla hadn't been hell-bent on seeking vengeance, we would have tracked them and stopped them anyway. It's practically a duty."

"Violence is always to be avoided where possible, Esmerelle," said Lucas gently. "But sometimes it is a necessary evil. And when violence is required, it is better to get it over and done with quickly, by any means necessary."

She nodded in understanding. If Eldon and the other priests hadn't been willing to use violence on the night they'd raided the temple of Bhaal, she would probably still be back there right now. It was violence that had saved her, however much she might not like it.

"It's been a long day for all of us," said Duncan. "Why don't you all get some rest? I'll keep first watch."

"Do you really thing Shayla and Daeghun will be back before dawn?"

"Night is when drow are most active. They don't like sunlight so much. There's always a risk that they'll go back underground when the sun starts to rise, so one way or the other, Shayla will be finished by then."

"I hope they're alright," she said, sending a prayer to Lathander to watch over Shayla and Daeghun. She thought that if drow were truly evil, then Lathander would want them killed too. But there was still a niggling doubt in the back of her mind. To kill in self-defence was one thing. To purposely hunt and stalk another sentient being, to them attack and kill it, watching it die, knowing that it was your hand that had done the killing... that was something she would never be able to do. She was sure of it.

When nobody else offered any conversation, she took her sleeping roll and blanket from atop her pack and settled down into it beside the fire. Her clothes were mostly dried, now, though they felt a little stiff from their soaking. But she could live with that. It was, right now, the least of her concerns.

o - o - o - o - o

Quite whispers woke Esmerelle from sleep, and she opened her eyes to slits, looking out into the grey morning. Fog had settled over their campsite during the night, and now she couldn't make out anything more than twenty paces away from her. Beside the smoking fire, Lucas was sitting in quiet conversation with Shayla and Daeghun. Both of the elves looked weary and had blood on their clothes, but they seemed otherwise unharmed. For a moment, she simply watched them all; the spry old man with his long, white moustache, the short, raven-haired shaman with her aura of command and confidence, the quiet and aloof ranger with his bow still in hand. She barely knew them at all, and yet it felt like she'd been travelling with them for a life-time.

"Hnh. Looks like we'll be moving off, soon," said Belvar quietly. He propped himself up beneath his blanket to follow her gaze to the three by the fire. "Damn shame they wouldn't let me go too."

"Do you... like... killing?" she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"I like finality. You see a problem, you fix it. You see a wrong, you right it. I'm good with black and white... not so much with everything that falls inbetween. Like justice. Don't get me started on justice. But killing evil things... that's a conclusion. It's something I can work with. I'd like to kill an evil dragon some day, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."

"Lucas said you're a scholar, but you sound like you enjoy fighting as much as you enjoy reading."

"A scholar, eh? I wouldn't call myself that. I'm a historian. Doesn't matter whose history... dwarves, elves, humans, gnomes, it's all good, to me."

"Are there many dwarf historians? I was given to understand that most are... er... warriors of renowned skill and courage," she said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. He gave an unimpressed snort.

"No need to honey-coat it. I know what our reputation's like. Mining, fighting and ale. That's what most people think we're about. As far as dwarven fighting and battles are concerned, every dwarf is a historian. We pass down stories of wars and duels like other races pass down fairytales and parables. Most dwarves know about their own clan histories, and how they were founded, who their allies and enemies of old were. But very few dwarves care about history in general. They're not too bothered about what the humans or the elves used to get up to, as long as it doesn't interfere with them in the present. I'm considered something of an oddity amongst my people. But then again, I suppose we all are."

"What do you mean?"

"Ach, never you mind about what I just said. It's not my place to tell other folks' stories for them. You'll learn all you need to know in time. Or not." He pushed his blanket off himself and made his way to the fire, leaving her alone with his cryptic words. "Hail, Shayla, Daeghun. What news of the drow? I take it by your clothes that you found them!"

"We caught and killed three," the elf replied with a frown. "Two escaped."

"Do you want to take some time to rest before we leave camp?" Lucas asked.

"No, we can reverie later. For now, I just want to leave, to get as far away from this place as possible. But before I go, I want to see the dryad again."

"Is there anything you can do for her?" Esme asked, sitting up in her makeshift bed.

"The only thing I can do is tell her of our success, and hope that the death of her killers brings her some measure of peace. All of you, please pack up the camp and prepare to depart when I return."

Shayla walked off into the forest, and the grey fog swallowed her up. Esme hoped the woman wouldn't get lost, alone out there... then she realised it was silly. Of course Shayla wouldn't get lost. She'd already found the camp once, hadn't she?

"I'll go and get Duncan and Kiree," said Lucas. "They're keeping watch not far away." And he too limped off into the fog.

"Did the... drow... say what they were doing here in the forest?" she asked Daeghun. He gave her a blank look before replying.

"They did not say, and we did not ask. We tracked them to stop them, not to talk with them. They would have seen any such overture as weakness, and attacked immediately."

"Oh." It didn't seem right to her. How could any civilised individual attack somebody else, even an evil creature, without at least giving them a chance to stop and explain themselves first? Even Albur had ordered Old Mallik to stop and letter go before killing him. Were her views simply naïve and simplistic? Nobody else seemed too bothered about the death of the drow. But none of the others had been raised to respect Lathander. The truth was, she simply didn't _know_ what the god wanted her to think about the situation, or how he would want her to react. She desperately wished that one of the other faithful was around, to guide her, but she was alone, now, and her current problems were beyond the scope of her prayerbook.

Sound on the periphery of the camp caught her attention, but when Kiree and Duncan materialised with Lucas behind them, she relaxed and bent down to begin packing up her things. Nobody suggested making tea for breakfast, so she guessed that they'd be eating as they walked. They seemed to do that quite a lot, usually only stopping for a midday meal if they were tired, or otherwise leaving it until they'd set up camp for the night. And for once, Esme didn't mind. She, too, wanted to get away from this place, away from where the dryad's trees had been killed, away from where Shayla and Daeghun had hunted and killed the drow she'd never even been able to see and judge for herself.

When Shayla returned, everybody was ready to leave. Their camp-fire had been smothered and the stones thrown away. Their sleeping bags had been rolled up and attached to their packs, and there were very few signs left than anybody had ever stopped here.

"The dryad was pleased that we could exact some vengeance for what was done to her trees," Shayla said to them without preamble.

"We're not just going to leave her there alone, are we?" Esme asked.

"Yes. To die in peace and dignity is what she wants, and it is the manner of most wild creatures to die alone. If we went back to keep her company, she would only try to leave. All we can do is respect the wishes of a spirit who has lived here for the past four hundred years, and hope that the forest will regrow and heal itself from this damage. Is everybody ready to leave?"

There was a mumbled chorus of 'yes', and Shayla accepted her own pack from Daeghun before setting a fast pace into the forest, in a northerly direction. As they left, Esme cast her eyes to the east, in the direction in which the dryad lay. She felt sure, now, that whatever the

centre of the High Forest held in store for them, it couldn't be much worse than this.

* * *

A/N: All you ever wanted to know about the Crown Wars. I'm not even going to bother spell-checking this one. Just let me know if you find something glaringly obvious.


	10. What Lurks Within The Heart

Chapter 10.

What Lurks Within The Heart

_"Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,_

_To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak."_ - William Congreve

o - o - o - o - o

The heart of the forest was every bit as dark and ominous as Esmerelle remembered it. Either the birds avoided this place of tall, light-stealing evergreens, or they refused to sing inside it. The loudest sounds were of woodpeckers drilling on trees, and even they were a welcome from the pervasive silence. Judging by the reactions of the others, she wasn't the only one who found the heart of the forest disturbing. Belvar practically tiptoed as he walked, and kept his hand hovering over the handle of his axe as if he expected to use it as any moment. Kiree's light-hearted chatter faded away, replaced by wary glances at the trees around her. Duncan was, for once, as quiet and withdrawn as Daeghun, and even Shayla seemed to be trying to move as though keeping herself small and unseen. Only Lucas was his usual self, humming and muttering under his breath. She was beginning to wonder if he was completely right in the head, but felt that offering to heal him might only offend him.

"It feels like we're being watched," said Kiree. She tried to be quiet, but her voice seemed to echo around the empty forest, and she winced.

"We probably are," said Shayla. "This place is old, and the spirits that inhabit it are old, too, and primal. Nothing at all like the spirits of the Kryptgarden."

"Are we going to be safe here?" Belvar asked.

"I think so. As long as we do nothing to harm the trees and the animals here."

"Esmerelle," said Daeghun, "you told us that you'd been here before, with your grandmother. How far in did you go?"

"Not very far," she admitted. "Which is one of the reasons my maps are incomplete. We came in far enough to find ingredients for medicine or potions, and then left. We never even stayed the night here. I think Ag... my grandmother... didn't like this place much either. And the pixies never ventured this far either. At least, not that I'm aware."

"My people believe," said Shayla, "that the lands of Faerûn were once entirely covered by forest. Before the time of the elves, when the world was still young, it was inhabited by primitive spirits of elemental nature which predate even the gods. I can well imagine such spirits dwelling in a place like this, but I'm loathe to reach out and touch them."

"How long will it take us to get through this part of the forest?" Duncan asked. Shayla glanced at Esmerelle's map in her hand, but it was now useless. This part of the map was blank. The elf closed her eyes.

"Three days," she said at last. "Maybe four. But there is at least one thing in our favour."

"And what's that?"

"The pine needles," said Shayla, gesturing to the cushion of dead needles they were now walking upon. "When needles from seeds such as these grow, they decompose very slowly, and they release acid into the soil which makes it difficult for other plants to grow. there will be no vines and creepers, here. No thickets and bushes to slow our journey. As dark we this part of the forest is, we should find travelling through it much easier than we have so far."

"We have to stop," said Lucas suddenly.

"We can't stop," said Belvar. "We have to keep going. The fastest way to reach Everlund is through this forest. Even if we went around the middle of it, it would still add days to our trip."

"We don't need to avoid it, but we need to stop. Here. Now. Shayla, I need to go on a vision-quest."

"Here, of all places?" the elf asked, one elegant eyebrow arched.

"Yes. Here."

"But it's barely even midday!" said Duncan. "Can't it wait until we make camp tonight."

"No, it can't. It has to be here. If you don't want to wait, Shayla, then leave me the tent and the herbs and I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"I'm not going to leave you alone here," Shayla said firmly. "I will stay with you. Everybody else can stay or go as they please."

In the end, everybody ended up staying. It seemed nobody wanted to go too far into the heart of the Forest without Shayla there too, and Esmerelle felt inclined to agree. She sat down and watched Shayla and Lucas erect a small, circular tent a short distance away from their impromptu campsite. As everybody else began to gather deadwood for the fire, she sat and watched the elf and the old man as they began to measure out herbs into a small cup. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she wandered over to watch more closely.

As she watched, she remembered Shayla's words. _Vision-quests always show you the truth, in one form or another._ For almost five years, she had been longing for the truth, for some glimpse of what had happened after she'd run away from the temple. Was this her way of finally seeing it? Was this why she had come across Shayla and the others during their travels?

"Can I do it?" she asked suddenly, before she could talk herself out of it. "The vision-quest. Can I do it, too?"

"Why do you want to do it?" Shayla asked, subjecting her to a questioning gaze.

"You said that in vision-quests, you can see the truth." She waited for the elf to nod. "I want to know the truth about something. My only other alternative is travelling far in another direction... to a time in the past that I can no longer reach."

"The vision-quest is a journey of self discovery," Shayla explained. "It is a journey inwards, into ourselves, far moreso than it is outwards, into the world. You may not like the truth that you find inside yourself."

"I'm willing to take that chance," she said firmly, feeling Lucas' eyes upon her too.

"Very well," Shayla relented after moment of silence. "I will guide you both into your visions, and remain with you throughout, but what you see and hear will be for each of you alone."

"What do I need to do?" she asked.

"Normally, I would advise fasting, but that's too late for any of us. Next time, perhaps you could _plan_ when to do a vision quest, Lucas, then we may prepare properly."

"The muses keep their own schedule, and they wait on no man, much like time and tide," said the old man. "Can we start, now?"

"Almost."

"What herbs are you using?" Esme asked, trying to discern what mixture Shayla was putting into the cup.

"That is a closely guarded secret of my clan," the elf said coolly.

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be," Shayla said with a smile. "Each clan or tribe of wild-elves have their own methods and traditions. We rarely share them with each other, and never with outsiders. Inviting non-elves into the vision-quest is rare enough."

"Thank you for letting me join in, then," she said, genuinely grateful to be given the opportunity.

"You're welcome. And now, I think we're ready. Please remove your outer layer of clothing. You'll need neither cloak nor coat."

As soon as Esme followed Shayla and Lucas into the tent, she realised why she wouldn't need her cloak. A fire had been lit inside it, and the air was hot. She immediately began to sweat, and wished she could remove her outer clothes too. But of course, that wouldn't have been proper. For a brief moment, she began to envy Shayla's shorts and the light vest-top the woman wore. Then she was forced to pay attention as Shayla began to speak.

"Close your eyes, and feel yourself floating inside your body," said the elf. There was a hissing sound, and she assumed Shayla had sprinkled water on the fire. Not enough to quench it, but enough to let off steam to make all of them sweat more. Esme tried to concentrate on Shayla's words. She tried to imagine herself floating inside her body, but she didn't know how, so she simply imagined herself watching everything from above. "Your body feels weightless, as if it could float into the air." There was a sizzling sound, and the bitter-sweet stench of burning plant reached Esme's nose. "Feel yourself begin to drift away from the tent, away from your physical body, into another place. A place that is both within and without, which runs through all other places." Esme tried to concentrate on the smell of burning herbs, to discern what it was exactly being burnt, but it was too late. The elf's words seemed to pick her up and carry her away, and the last thing she saw as she was sucked into a vortex of whirling lights and darkness, was three people sat in a dark tent illuminated by the light of a small fire.

o - o - o - o - o

The familiar buildings of the temple complex surrounded her. Down the small hill stood the little houses of the priests, and behind them were the orchards, just as she remembered them. The morning air was cool, and she shivered, then looked down. She was wearing brown trousers and a green shirt, instead of her acolyte robes. That was strange... why wasn't she with the other acolytes now, saying her prayers to the morning sun? She turned and surveyed the main temple. Its tall, light stone walls and golden-domed top brought pangs of home-sickness to her stomach. Then, she saw the outline of a familiar figure open the main front door and enter the temple. Without thinking of her own safety, she ran after him.

He always remained a head of her; every time she turned a corner within the maze-like temple, he turned the next one, giving her chance only to glimpse the end of his cloak before disappearing again. Had the temple always been like this? She didn't remember so many turns, so many corridors that looked all the same. But why did she think she was remembering it wrongly? What was to remember? She'd always lived here... hadn't she?

"Eldon!" she called. "Wait for me!"

But he seemed not to hear. She had to follow him down several more corridors before he reached his destination; the large, oak doors of the main prayer hall. Why were the doors closed? They were never closed in the mornings, when the priests led the acolytes in prayer. Something wasn't right here. She hurried towards the heavy oak door and pulled it open as far as she could, which was just enough to slip inside. It closed behind her with a bang, but none of the priests seemed to notice. Nor were the acolytes present. In fact, all of the priests seemed to be here, taking up some of the chairs normally reserved for the acolytes. At the front of the room, Dawnmaster Sarris was speaking. She crept forward, listening to what he had to say.

"...searched the river the whole night," the Dawnmaster continued. This was obviously an ongoing discussion. "Apart from the blood, and an item of clothing, we found no trace of her. It's possible she tried to swim to the other shore, but miscalculated the speed of the river."

"We have to keep searching," said a familiar voice. She watched as Eldon stood. "She could be lying somewhere injured, cold and alone. We can't leave her out there." His hands clenched into fists. "We can't!" he insisted, his voice sounding strangled.

"Perhaps this is for the best," said another voice that she recognised. _Sir_ _Albur._ "I don't know what made her run away, but if she did truly perish in the river, it takes the onus off us. Perhaps this is what Lathander wanted all along. He saw that we were being divided by this problem, so he took care of it for us."

"Took care of it?" said Eldon angrily. "You're talking about the death of a living, feeling person."

"I'm talking about the removal of a Bhaalspawn, and the world is a better place for it."

"We will keep searching," said Sarris. "If she died in the river, then we should at least give her body the proper burial rites. If we find her alive, we must still decide what to do with her."

"I'd like to request that Sir Albur be kept out of searching the river," said Eldon.

"As the child's carer, you have that right. For now, we'll resume searching, and reconvene on the morrow, or when we have news. Those of you not involved in the search should continue to work with the acolytes. We can't allow them to miss a third day of teaching."

As the priests all stood and began to file out of the room, Esme ducked behind a colonnade, trying to still her racing heart, sure that somebody would hear it thumping in her chest. It seemed very important that she not be discovered here, though she couldn't exactly recall why.

"Sir Albur," Eldon called as the last of the priests disappeared. "Might I speak to you for a moment?"

Esme watched, peering around the tall stone column, as Sir Albur approached Eldon, who was waiting beside another colonnade. When Albur stepped within range, Eldon lunged for him, pushing the taller man back and pinning him against the wall.

"Eldon, no!" she shouted, shocked by her father's actions. But he didn't hear her.

"You've hated her ever since she was a child, ever since we brought her back from that temple," said Eldon. His voice and his face held anger like she'd never seen before. It frightened her. _He_ frightened her. Her father _never_ got angry. He was always so calm and patient. "Don't think I don't know why you're doing this."

"Eldon, please, leave him," she pleaded, approaching the pair, though neither looked at her. "He's not worth it." She reached out to place a hand on her father's arm, then jumped back when her hand went _through_ him, as if he wasn't even there. _Maybe I'm the one who's not really here,_ she thought with a shiver. _Maybe I'm a ghost. Maybe I died in that river after all._

"You can speculate about my motives all you want-" Albur sneered.

"Speculate? What's to speculate? You are a shallow, petty man. You would kill a child simply to punish me for your _imagined_ slights."

"You speak as if your own behaviour is beyond reproach, Eldon. How long do you think it would have taken the other acolytes to start talking? How long do you think it would have taken them to start asking _why_ one of the priests was living with a young girl."

"How long until you put that idea in their heads, you mean? That's what this is really all about, isn't it? Even if Esme wasn't Bhaalspawn, you would have found some other way, like spreading rumours, to ruin her life and my reputation, all for your petty revenge."

"I'd be careful about where you throw your accusations, because if it was ever questioned why a priest of Lathander prefers the company of little girls-"

Sir Albur never got the chance to finished his sentence. Eldon hit him square in the face, and his nose made a cracking sound, gushing blood down his orange and red robes and onto the white marble floor. Esme screamed and closed her eyes, wishing Eldon would hear her, wishing she was away from this place.

The world blurred, and she opened her eyes to find herself standing outside the temple once more, looking out over the orchard. The sun was higher, now, and the air a little warmer. She turned back to the temple, and saw someone striding towards her. It was Eldon; his face was a mask of fury, and blood was sprayed across the knuckles of his right hand which was balled into a fist. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he took deep breaths, fighting to calm himself.

"Eldon, it's me, Esmerelle," she said, standing in front of him, trying to make eye contact. But it was no use. He simply looked over her, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something. When his breaths were finally slower, and he'd unclenched his hands, he set off down towards the small priest houses, and she followed him to the one that was most familiar to her. Here she had lived out her childhood. Here she had learnt about Lathander, here she had played under the caring, watchful eyes of her adoptive father. The house that had once been her whole world and seemed so big to her, now looked tiny. It wasn't all that much bigger than Aggie's cottage, really - and for a moment she was confused by her own thoughts. Who was Aggie? - with its living room, two small bedrooms and a cosy kitchen. She'd heard that the priests who lived in temples in cities had fine, sumptuous rooms to themselves, with gilded furniture and exquisite works of art. But the acolytes were supposed to understand austerity before becoming more accustomed to excess, and the priests were expected to lead by example.

Eldon entered the house and closed the door behind him, and didn't notice when she opened it again to admit herself. He truly seemed not to see or feel anything that she did. Was this her punishment for running away? Was she dead, and supposed to continue as if she was living, but having nobody able to speak to her or touch her? Tears dampened her eyes at the thought. To be able to see and hear everybody around her, and yet not have them see or hear her, or even know that she existed, was a fate worse than death.

She watched as Eldon paced the small living room, and knew how he felt. He was anxious, worried about her, angry with himself, guilty over her running away and his own loss of control. She wished desperately that she could speak to him, to tell him that none of this was his fault, that she loved him for everything he'd ever done for her. But it was useless. She could no more make him hear her than she could grow wings and fly.

She could only watch as he went into the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of wine, gulping down its contents. After a moment, he seemed to relax, and poured himself another cup before returning to the living room. There, he sank down into a chair and watched the fire that hadn't been lit since the night before she'd ran away. It was strange, but she couldn't remember dying at all. Shouldn't she be able to remember it? She must have either drowned or been bashed against the rocks of the river, so why didn't she remember any of that? She couldn't even remember how she'd gotten back here, to the temple. Had she walked? If so, why couldn't she remember the journey?

When he'd finished with his cup of wine, he returned to the kitchen and brought the bottle back with him, pouring it into his cup before drinking. He didn't like the wine. She knew, because every time he took a sip, he pulled a face and had to force himself to swallow. She sat down beside him, and put her hand on his shoulder. Or, at least, made her hand _hover_ over his shoulder, because any time she tried to touch him, her hand simply went through him.

"Eldon, please hear me," she said. He didn't reply, but she saw unshed tears forming in his eyes. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him that she was okay, but she knew that it was futile. "I'm here," she whispered, wishing she had some alcohol of her own to drown her aching heart. "Please stop this. You have to stop drinking and start looking for me. If you're quick, maybe you'll find me. Maybe I'm not dead yet. Maybe I'm just dreaming you."

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were not true. She was dead. She was sure of it. and her punishment was to watch her father destroying himself through anger and guilt and drink. _I wish I didn't have to watch this,_ she thought to herself, burying her face in her hands. _I wish I was away from here._

The world blurred, and she pulled her hands away from her eyes to find herself standing outside the temple once more, looking out over the orchard. The sun was low over the horizon to the east... early morning, she realised. Today was another day.

"How was her deception discovered," said a familiar voice behind her. She turned and saw Eldon in discussion with another priest. They walked together quickly, hurrying from the priests' houses towards the temple, and Esme followed them, listening to their conversation.

"We wanted to know why Esmerelle ran away, so we began asking the other acolytes if they had noticed anything strange in her behaviour, in the days leading up to her disappearance. None of them had. So then we asked their whereabouts on the day she ran away, in case any of them had seen anything. A few had been close to the river. They didn't see Esmerelle at all, but one or two of them said they saw Aliya down there, acting a little suspiciously, quite unlike her usual self. When we questioned her, she admitted throwing one of Esmerelle's pack into the river and spattering blood on the rocks nearby, but she said she wouldn't explain herself to anybody but you."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Nobody, yet. We thought it best to get the whole truth from her before going to Dawnmaster Sarris."

Guilt began to wrack Esme's heart as she followed them into the temple. Aliya was getting into trouble, and it was all her fault. If only she'd told Aliya to go away on the day she'd left the temple. She should have told her friend that she wasn't feeling well, then Ali would have left her alone.

The last time she'd entered the temple she'd wanted desperately to speak to Eldon, and had been forced to chase him through a winding maze of corridors. Now, she wanted to avoid seeing Ali again for as long as possible, but this time there was only one corridor in the entire temple, and it terminated in a door to a room where Ali was sitting on a chair behind a table, being watched by two priests. Esme examined her friend; Ali's nose and cheeks were puffy and damp, and her eyes were red and watery, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Her long, blonde hair clearly hadn't been brushed that morning, though, and she wondered if they'd kept Ali up all night asking her questions, or whether they'd simply woken her before any of the other acolytes were awake.

"Ali, it's Esme, I'm here!" she said, rushing to her friend's side. But as with Eldon and the rest of the people in the temple, Ali didn't hear her, and her hand went right through the younger girl's body.

Eldon took a seat at the table opposite Ali, his face carefully blank. Esme knew that he was hiding the hope that he felt. She could see flickers of it in his eyes, but he'd told himself that she was dead, and that his death was her fault. Now, to learn that she might yet be alive... it was almost too much for him to bear.

"Tell Sir Eldon what you told Dawngreeter Lira, Aliya," said the priest who had accompanied Eldon.

"I... I put Esme's things down by the river, and spattered pig's blood on the rocks," Ali admitted hoarsely. "And I lied about seeing her down by the river. I never saw her there."

"You should know by now, child, that Lathander considers lying a sin," said Eldon, his voice firm and somewhat cold. "Why did you tell us lies when you knew how important it was that we find Esmerelle. She could be hurt, or even dead by now."

"I'm sorry," Ali said, tears pooling in her eyes again before dripping down her pink cheeks. "I know that lying is a sin, but helping a friend is something Lathander approves of," she sniffed. "Ali asked me to help her and I knew I'd get into trouble but I did it anyway!"

"But _why_? Either of you could have come to me if you were having problems."

"Esme said... she said her life was in danger, and that it would be better off if everybody thought she was dead."

"Even me?" Eldon asked, and Esme felt her heart breaking all over again. She hadn't wanted Eldon to think she was dead, she'd only wanted him to not follow her, to not let the others hurt her, and this had seemed the best way.

"Did Esmerelle tell you why she felt her life was in danger?" one of the other priests asked.

"No. She just said Eldon... I mean, Sir Eldon... would tell me about it if I asked."

"What do you want to do about this?" the priest asked Eldon.

"I'm going to Dawnmaster Sarris," he replied, whirling from the room with the hope now blossoming on his face. "I'm going to get my daughter back."

She ran out of the room and down the single corridor, all but tripping over herself in haste to get away from the people she cared about. She didn't want to see how much she'd hurt them. She didn't want to watch anymore. She couldn't stand to see Eldon hunting desperately for her.

"How can you let people suffer like this?" she shouted to the sky. She didn't know if Lathander was listening, but by now she didn't care. "Why are you punishing me? Can't you at least tell him how much I loved him?"

But there was no response. She sank to the ground and drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs as she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. It wasn't fair. She'd never even got a chance to say goodbye. _I don't belong here,_ she thought. _I need to get away from this nightmare._

The world blurred, and she lifted her head to gaze out at the orchard below her. The day was fine and bright, the air warm, the sun almost at its zenith. She heard voices filtering up from the orchard, and saw groups of red-clad acolytes wandering amongst the trees, under the direction of priests.

"Esme, there you are," said a familiar voice behind her. She turned her head and saw Eldon walking towards her. His face was grim and pale, but his eyes were completely focused on her. He could see her! She jumped up from the ground and threw himself into his arms, clinging to him as tightly as possible, making sure she really _could_ feel him.

"You can see me," she said.

"Don't worry," he replied, stroking her hair with one hand. "I'm afraid too, but we have to have faith in Lathander. The Morninglord will make the others see sense."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, pulling away from him and looking up into his tired brown eyes.

"Yes. I have to. Now come on, let's go. They're waiting for us. They've made their decision." He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and led her back towards the temple.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked.

"I'm going to take care of you. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

She asked no more questions as they entered the temple, and he walked beside her along familiar corridors, until at last they came to the heavy oak door of the prayer hall. Normally, in public, he treated her no differently than any other acolyte. But now he kept his arm around her as he escorted to a lone chair. She sat down in it, trying to appear calm, fighting the terror that was welling up inside her heart. Before returning to the other priests, who were filling the rows of acolyte chairs, Eldon brushed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead.

"I promise," he said firmly. It was a promise she knew she could never hold him to.

"Are all present?" asked Dawnmaster Sarris, once more at the front of the hall.

"All are present," replied another priest.

"Esmerelle, are you ready to hear our judgement?" Sarris asked her. She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. "Very well. It hasn't been an easy thing to consider, and we have had to take many factors into consideration; your training, Sir Eldon's raising of you, your own behaviour and nature, and the risk not only to the people living here in the temple, but to the world at large. It is our judgement that although you yourself show all the makings of a good person, unlikely to ever try to unleash the power of Bhaal once more, there are many within the realm who would not hesitate to use what you are for their own means, to further their own dark goals. Therefore, it is too dangerous for us to allow a Bhaalspawn - any Child of Bhaal - to remain within the grasp of the Light's enemies."

"So you're to punish her for the sins of others?" Eldon said angrily, standing to his feet. "She's an acolyte of Lathander, not of Ilmater. Should we also destroy our tools, simply because somebody else might pick one up and use it as a weapon against us?"

"You've had your turn to speak, Sir Eldon," said Sarris patiently. "Now is the time to listen to our judgement. If you cannot show proper restraint, you will have to be removed."

"Yes, because that's what we do with our problems, isn't it? We 'remove' them instead of working through them." Eldon sat down with a scowl on his normally pleasant face.

"As I was saying," Sarris said, turning his attention back to her. "You are simply too dangerous to be allowed to live. Therefore, you will be taken and held in one of the cells below the temple complex. We're fortunate in that we've rarely had to use them, and it saddens me that after so long standing empty, they must now be put to the use for which they were originally intended. Because of your caring, compassionate nature, we will grant you as swift and painless a death as possible. Tomorrow you will be give food containing poison which will kill you quickly but with relatively little pain."

She felt the blood drain from her face, and her vision seemed to dim around the periphery. They were going to kill her! Why, oh why hadn't she run away when she'd had the chance? Surely if she'd ran, her life would be so much better now. Surely she'd _have_ a life, instead of a death-sentence.

"We anticipate passive resistance in the form of hunger strike," Sarris continued, "and if you wish to starve yourself to death, that is your choice. But without water, you won't last more than a few days. After that, your body will shut down, and compared to the death we offer you, it will be long and painful. Priests, take her below and see that she is locked securely, but remember; she is still one of our own, and should be treated with the same respect that you show to each other.

"No, you can't do this! You can't!" said Eldon desperately. But it was too late. The priests beside her were already dragging her away, out of sight of her father.

"Eldon, help me!" she screamed.

The world blurred, and she found herself sitting inside a small, dark cell. There was a single barred window, high above, which admitted a small amount of light. _Because even down here, in the darkness, Lathander will not forsake you if you are true to him,_ one of the priests had told her. She didn't know how long she'd been down there, now, but the priests who sat outside herself and read from their prayerbooks had changed shifts three times. And they did treat her with the respect that had been asked for. They didn't leave her alone, call her names, scorn her or deny her water. And whenever she had to use the waste bucket in the corner of the room, they left her alone, then removed it for cleaning when she was done. She was given warm blankets to sleep on, and even a pillow. Sometimes she felt comfortable, sometimes degraded, but always alone, despite the priests who kept a vigil for her.

The wooden door to the cells opened, and two priests entered, one carrying a tray, with Eldon behind them. His face looked paler than ever, and dark rings coloured the skin beneath his eyes. He'd probably stayed up all night pleading for her life, and by the look on his face, she knew he'd failed. But she didn't blame him. She couldn't blame him for any of this. All he'd done was taken her away from a bad place and loved her.

"It is time," said the priest with the tray.

"Let me stay here alone with her," said Eldon. "Please. If she's going to die, I should be the one to stay with her. I'm her father." The priests glanced at each other, and then at the one who had been sitting with her.

"Alright," said the priest with the tray at last. He gave the tray to Eldon, and waited until his companions had left the room before closing the door behind them all. As soon as the door was closed, Eldon set the tray on the floor and rushed towards the bars, taking her hand in his.

"Esmerelle, are you okay?" he asked.

"As well as can be expected," she said, feeling tears form in her eyes. "I don't want to die, Eldon. I don't want to leave you."

"You're not going to die. I have a plan. Take this food and hide it in the corner, behind the bucket," he said, pushing her the small dish of meat and vegetables through the bars. "Just pour the food out, keep the dish. We have to make it look realistic."

"What are you going to do?" she said, standing still with the dish in her hands. "What's your plan?"

"You'll need to pretend that you've eaten the food. When some time has passed, you lie on the floor, and I'll fetch the guards. They'll open the door to take your body, and I will use that moment to disable them. Then, we'll run."

"I don't want you to hurt anybody else on my behalf. There's enough hurting in the world without more of it."

"You are my daughter, Esmerelle," he said, reaching through the bars to run a hand along her cheek, wiping some of her tears away. "I'll die before I let them kill you. What's the point in being your father if I can't keep you safe?"

"Maybe I should just eat the food," she said, looking at the meal the priests had provided. It didn't look bad... and she was definitely hungry enough to eat it.

"No!" he said in a quiet shout. "Your death will solve nothing. Please. I can't watch you die. I have to try to save you. Please, pour the food on the floor behind the bucket."

He looked so terrified that she could do nothing but obey him. Her father was never scared. He was strong, and caring, and he had always taken care of her before now. She had to trust that he knew best. She walked to the bucket and poured the food into the corner behind it.

"Good, good," he said, his dark eyes sparkling brightly in his ghost-white face. Now, lie on the floor with the dish overturned beside you. Try to look like you've slumped to the ground.

She'd never had to think about her own death throes before, and it made a chill race over her skin as she tried to lie as if she'd died naturally, and not been positioned.

"You have to be prepared to run," he continued. "Don't move until I say so. Close your eyes, and try to keep your breaths as slow and shallow as possible. We can't let them see you breathing, or they won't enter the cell.

She did as he commanded, closing her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths, feeling her heart rate slow as she lay face-down on the cold, dusty floor. To keep her mind occupied, and to keep out the growing fear, she counted inside her head. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven..._ Every number seemed to take an eternity to reach, and then it was over in a heartbeat. It wasn't until she reached seventy that Eldon banged on the door, and it was eighty before one of the priests slid the bolt open.

"It's done," she heard Eldon say, and for all the world she could have believed the grief in his voice. "She'd dead."

There was a shuffling sound of people moving, of feet approaching, and then the jingling of keys as they were removed from a pocket. A scraping sound as a key was placed inside the lock and turned, and then a grating sound as the rusty door to her cell was open. As the footsteps approached her, she expelled the air from her body and relaxed her muscles. She felt a hand on her shoulder rolling her over onto her back, and tried to stay as floppy as possible. She remembered one of the older acolytes telling her that dead people were floppy, at first, and then went stiff as time passed.

Then there was the sound of frantic movement, followed by cries of pain, and the sound of something metal hitting softer things. Her heart, previously so still and quiet, began pounding inside her chest as fear coursed through her body. But she didn't move or open her eyes. Eldon had told her not to.

"Esmerelle, let's go," he said at last. She opened his eyes and found him crouched beside her, helping her up. Looking around, she saw prone and bleeding bodies; it seemed he'd knocked most of them unconscious using the tray on which he'd brought her the poisoned meal. He took her hand, dragging him behind her and out into the main cells. There, he took corridors she had never seen before; cold, dark underground tunnels that led away from the central temple complex. It was so reminiscent of another flight she had taken, many years before, except this time, somebody she loved and trusted was leading her, and the people she feared were falling behind.

When at last they came to a door that led outside, Esme was forced to shield her eyes against the glaring sun. She hadn't seen full, intense sunlight in over a day, and the light which had seemed so comforting inside her cell now burnt her. Was this Lathander's way of telling her to go back? If it was, she didn't get time to dwell on it. Eldon pulled her forward, down a flight of steps, and she realised they'd exited the temple on its rarely-used south side, near the orchards. There were no acolytes there today, but Eldon's dark grey horse was tethered to a tree. He gave her a leg-up into the saddle, then pulled himself up after her, wrapping one arm around her and taking the reins in one hand. He spurred his horse into a trot, and then into a canter, and a few moments later they cleared the outskirts of the temple and were galloping down the road towards freedom.

"Where are we going to go? We have nothing!" she said, when he finally slowed his horse to a walk to let the animal breathe.

"It doesn't matter. Anywhere is better than where we were. I have some good, enough to buy us a few supplies, but we'll have to rough it for a while to escape notice."

Something zipped through the air beside them, and she felt Eldon turn in the saddle to look behind. He drew a sharp breath and kicked the horse forward again, this time into a flat out gallop.

"Just hold on," he said through clenched teeth. "I won't let them catch us."

The horse ran at speeds so fast that the woods seemed to blur around them, and she knew that it couldn't keep up this speed for long. And even if it somehow did manage to keep going, it would still tire, and all it would take was one loose stone on the smooth road for the horse to trip and kill them all. In a way, the thought of being killed by the horse whilst fleeing was far more worrying than the thought of being caught and poisoned again.

"We have to stop," she said, feeling herself wobbling in the saddle. Eldon simply tightened his grip on her and booted the horse to keep it going.

"Not yet. Once we're across the river we can cut into the woods and lose them there. Their crossbows will be less effective in the woods."

As the horse crested the rise in the road, she saw the bridge spanning the river below them, and beyond the bridge lay the Misty Forest, thick, verdant, haven.

"We're almost there!" she said, feeling hope and excitement grow. "We're going to make it!"

At that moment, something hit Eldon; his weight was thrown forward against her momentarily, then he tumbled from the saddle. The horse panicked as he fell, his long cloak twisting around the steed's legs. It stopped dead and reared before Esme could even reach, and she was thrown forward first as it came to a halt, and then backwards as it came up onto its hind legs. She lost her balance completely and fell, landing heavily shoulder-first on the dusty road.

"Eldon!" she shouted, coughing as the rising dust cloud created by the horse began to work its way into her lungs. Then, she spied him, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. She could hear more hoofbeats growing louder as riders approached, but she ignored them, and crawled along the ground to where her father lay. Using her good, right arm, she pulled him over onto his back, then stared, shocked, at the crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. It had gone almost clean through his body, through his back and out the front. Had she not been leaning forward, over the horse's neck, she, too, would have been skewered by it.

"Eldon," she repeated, shaking his shoulder, not caring about what damage she was doing inside him. But his eyes remained still, staring upwards at the sky, and a trickle of blood left the corner of his mouth. "No!" she cried, and flung herself on top of him. He couldn't be dead! He _couldn't_! It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was her father, he couldn't die. All he'd wanted to do was save his daughter. This was all her fault. Her father was dead because of her. She screamed as strong hands lifted her up from his body, and driven by grief, she tried to fight. But they were too many, and they ignored her feeble punches as easily as they ignored her keening wails. Even when she was carried away, she tried to keep sight of his body, but there were too many people between them now, and they blocked out her sight of him.

Then, the world blurred one last time.

o - o - o - o - o

She awoke to find herself staring up at a thick cloth ceiling not far above her head. Where was she? Then, she panicked. She'd been buried alive! This stifling, air-less place was her coffin, buried in the ground. She sat up and began hyperventilating, and barely even noticed Shayla opening the flap of the tent to admit cool, morning air. She gulped it in gratefully, and with the realisation of where she was, the memory of what she had just witnessed came back to her.

"It's all my fault," she said, and didn't even try to stop the tears that fell from her eyes.

"It's okay," said Shayla, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"No, it's not!" she said, and threw herself into the elf's embrace. All she could do was let her grief-driven sobs rack her body as Shayla stroked her hair and whispered unheard soothing words.

Eldon had died because of her. It wasn't what had happened, no, but it was what _could_ have happened, had she stayed at the temple. But her alternative of leaving had been little better. She'd seen her father drowning himself in wine. Was that the first time he'd done it? Was it the last? Either way, she'd ruined his life, she was sure of it.

"It's my fault," she sobbed. "I destroyed his life."

"Whose life? Eldon's?" Shayla asked. Esme released her hold on the other woman and sat up to look at her suspiciously. "You called out for someone named Eldon, during your vision-quest," the elf explained. "You said 'Can't you at least tell him how much I love him?' Don't worry, nobody else heard. Lucas woke long ago and left the tent, looking for his song. I was the only one with you."

"How long was I in the vision-quest for?"

"A day, or thereabouts. Some last for an hour or two, some for many days at a time. The first one can be particularly harrowing, because it is also a test."

"A test?"

"The spirits grant visions only to the worthy. They test you using your greatest fears and your darkest secrets. Those who are not worthy of receiving visions simply never undertake the vision-quest again. Those who are worthy learn to master their fears, and they return to the vision."

"So... was what I saw real? You said that vision-quests show you the truth."

"They do. But it might not necessarily be the truth of the material world. It may be the truth of your own fears, the truth of your own heart. Sometimes they show real world events, sometimes not, but it is no less the truth."

"Eldon was the priest who raised me, after my parents died," she said, needing to get at least some of her secrets off her chest. "He was like a father to me. Leaving him was... very difficult."

"Did your grandmother never let you return to see him?"

"No. We all agreed that it was best that she raise me alone."

"I don't understand, but I can tell you're not ready to talk about this yet," Shayla said. "It is not necessary for you to talk about your vision-quest with me, but know that I'm here, if you ever do want to talk. For now, I'll go and get us some breakfast. Kiree found a stream nearby, and I think it would be good for you to wash in it. Cold, clear water can be particularly restorative after a harrowing experience such as yours."

Esme nodded, and Shayla left her alone inside the darkness of the tent. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted to do another vision-quest again, and she wondered what Duncan had seen in his, to make him so afraid to go back. Was it something worse than what she'd seen? An unfamiliar, unseen bird gave a raucous call high above the treetops, and she looked out of the open tent flap at the foreboding forest. Suddenly, the heart of the forest no longer seemed as dark and intimidating as it had been yesterday. Compared to what she'd seen within her own heart, the High Forest seemed almost pleasant, now.


	11. Everlund

Chapter 11.

Everlund

"_Someone may have stolen your dream when it was young and fresh and you were innocent. Anger is natural. Grief is appropriate. Healing is mandatory. Restoration is possible."_ - Jane Rubietta

o - o - o - o - o

For the next few days, Esmerelle spent most of her time thinking about the things she had seen during her vision-quest. She had, she realised, been carrying guilt and grief around with her for a long time. Guilt over leaving Eldon so suddenly and potentially getting Ali into serious trouble, and grief over how desperately Eldon had wanted to find her. Now, she knew that the only way she could truly start living her life again was if she moved forward, past the guilt and the grief, and forgave herself.

It wasn't easy. In her heart, she wasn't really sure if she even deserved forgiveness, but she had to try. Every night, before crawling beneath her blanket, she prayed to Lathander, begging for his forgiveness, promising to lead a life worthy of him if he could help her to forgive herself. She would heal those in need, she promised. She would defend the innocent who could not defend themselves. She would foster new life and new hope wherever she could, and she would tell others of his grace and might whenever they would listen.

Slowly, she began to realise that it was okay to laugh and be happy. Yes, she felt bad about her past actions, but she'd already been through enough. She'd lost her home - twice - and had to leave the closest thing she had to a family. She'd been alone for two years, and now it was finally time to start living again. As the group of companions travelled through the forest, she metamorphosed like a butterfly leaving its cocoon. The world was a bright, and wonderful place to live in, and she began to rejoice in every minute of it. Small, new things excited her, and Lucas' tales captured her imagination. Away from the confines of the church, she was finally coming to understand the true glory of Lathander. Sometimes she thought that she could feel Him travelling with her, watching her actions, and it made her all the more determined to become a force of good.

Though she lost track of how many days they'd travelled through the forest, she began to notice changes. The first change was the forest itself. The trees began change from evergreen to deciduous as they passed north, though the heart of the forest. Esmerelle no longer feared that dark place. She knew, now, that the heart of the forest was as much a test for her as the vision-quest has been. But she had come through the darkness and emerged into light, just like a newborn babe.

The second change was the mood of the others. Now that they were nearing their destination, Duncan seemed more relax, Belvar was less inclined to grumble, and Lucas spent less and less time listening to songs and voices in his head, and more time telling her fanciful tales and singing songs. Shayla, on the other hand, became more withdrawn, and Daeghun became even more aloof. The only person who didn't change was Kiree; the halfling's mood was almost always light-hearted and care-free.

Because Esmerelle had been expecting the fringe deciduous forest to go on for some days, as it did in the south area of the High Forest, she was surprised one morning when they she stepped out of the tree-line and looked down a rolling valley at a small city below her. It was so sudden and unexpected that all she could do was stop and stare in open-mouthed amazement, until Belvar pointed out that it looked like she was trying to catch flies.

"It's so... big!" she said, with more than a little awe in her voice.

"It's about half the size of Silverymoon," said Kiree. "I grew up there, you know. In Silverymoon, I mean."

"Really? What's it like?"

"Oh, you know," the halfling shrugged. "Big and full of people. Many people claim it rivals Myth Drannor at the height of its power and influence. All I know is that it's full of lots of rich people, but you have to be real careful about who you steal from."

"She means the architecture, you blithering ninny," said Belvar. "Silverymoon is an architectural marvel. The dwarven home of Undercity lies beneath Silverymoon, as protection against the beasts of the Underdark. Below great trees, human homes are interspersed with halfling borrows and gnome dens. There are grand auditoriums and galleries of art... and the libraries! No finer library exists in the north, save for Candlekeep, which is usually closed to outsiders. Up and into the trees, elven homes and shops are built, with great wooden walkways suspended between them. And the Moonbridge, made of pure magic, connects the new city with the old, spanning the River Rauvin and glimmering softly in moonlight."

"I think you'll find," said Lucas, "that when she asked what it is like, she was referring to the culture of the place. Their school of music, called Utramm's Conservatory, is one of the finest of all the lands. All musicians can practice their craft inside Four Corner Square, any time, day or night, and they'll always find an adoring crowd no matter how late the hour. While the rest of the city sleeps, bards and minstrels play on, in taverns, inns and on stages. The buildings themselves are works of art, all flowing white marble and beautiful carved statues, with gold and silver leaf everywhere. Fountains are present everywhere, and the temples, especially those to Mielikki and Lurue, are particularly fine. Ah, I've a good mind to go to Silverymoon with you, Esmerelle, just to show you all of its wonders, hidden or otherwise."

"One thing at a time," said Shayla. "We're not even at Everlund yet. Esmerelle may decide she does not like cities so much after all."

"Don't you like Silverymoon, Shayla?" Esme asked as the elf set off down the trail towards Everlund.

"It's fine, as far as cities go."

"She gets stared at a lot," said Kiree with a conspirational wink.

"Why?"

"The people of my tribe are considered something of an oddity amongst our kin, for living so close to humans," said Shayla. "Most of our people live in the great forests of Tethyr or Chult or Chondalwood, and keep to themselves, protecting the forest and having little to do with outsiders. Thus, whenever we travel to towns or cities inhabited by other elves, I hear comments about how strange and quaint it is to see a wild elf here, of all places, and it would be best to be careful what you say around me in case I become violent. Pah!" She said something in elvish that made Daeghun look away and pretend he wasn't paying attention.

"One time," said Lucas, "a pair of sun elves came over and all but started patting her on the head." Shayla glared at him, and he fell silent.

"Sometimes, I think living near humans is better than living near elves. At least they see an elf and thing 'elf', and are ignorant to anything else. The eladrin are particularly bad for being condescending to others." Esme looked at Shayla, who was once again wearing her bear-skin cloak. The headband of feathers was still tied around the elf's head, and her sparse attire, in combination with the tattoos that adorned her body, made her look wild, and primitive. It wasn't hard to see why other elves would consider her a curiosity.

"Is there a temple of Lathander in Silverymoon?" she asked, changing the obviously sore subject.

"No," said Duncan. "But there is in Everlund. I expect you'll be wanting to go there as soon as possible, to pray, right?"

"Maybe after I've had something to eat," she said faintly. And after she'd scouted the place out in case she recognised any of the priests there.

"Where shall we stay?" asked Kiree as their group approached the tall outer wall of the city. "Danivarr's House? The Dreaming Dragon?"

"I hate the Dreaming Dragon," said Shayla. "Too many elves."

"What about The Stag at Bay?" suggested Duncan.

"That inn is a place for fools and braggarts," said Lucas dismissively. "Esmerelle will want to see culture on her first visit to a city, so we should stay at The Old Sword Sheathed tavern."

"I can never sleep in that place," said Belvar. "Too many old men playing songs and telling loud tales. "Sordar's Cup would be better."

"We will stay in The Phantom Knight," said Daeghun. "It is where most of the merchants stay, and therefore best for us too."

Nobody could come up with a half-decent argument for not staying in The Phantom Knight, so the matter was quickly settled. Everlund must be, Esmerelle realised, a very large place, if it could count so many inns and taverns inside its boundaries. And according to Kiree and Lucas, Silverymoon was even bigger! The thought made her head swim. She would probably be safe from priests inside the cities - with so many people in them, how could the priests find her? - but the thought of so many people cramped in together... she hadn't experienced crowds since she'd left the temple of Lathander, and the priests and acolytes had hardly been a rowdy bunch. What was she to do if somebody threatened or insulted her?

"The first thing we need to do once we've settled into the inn, is visit the Bell Market," said Kiree. "I've had money burning in my pocket since we left Llorkh."

"And I need to buy a new horse," said Lucas.

"I could do with another pair of trousers, after that bear gored mine," Duncan added.

"And we can buy Esmerelle some new clothes too!" said Kiree.

"Oh, there's really no need for you to do that," Esme said quickly. "I mean, I've no way of paying you back."

"Don't worry about that, we always come across money when we need it. Wouldn't you like something new to wear? A nice dress, maybe?"

"I _do_ miss wearing dresses," she admitted. "Maybe something nice in the colours of the Morninglord?"

"Yes! And we can put his symbol on it, too, so that everybody knows you're a priest!"

"I'm not a real priest," she said with a frown. "I never even rose to the rank of Dawnbringer."

"It doesn't matter. You studied at a temple, you're one of the faithful, you can use his symbol if you want. Priests and paladins are good, because nobody looks at you twice if you're working with a priest or a paladin of a good god, like Tyr or Lathander."

"After you're done shopping, I'll show you the library," said Belvar. "They have quite a nice one here, with books on all subjects from magical theory to history and religion."

"I'd like that," Esme smiled.

"Before you all start making plans, remember that we are here to sign on to a caravan, and to give Esmerelle names of people who will help her to settle in Silverymoon," said Daeghun, reminding her that after the caravan left, she would be on her own again.

"Patience, Daeghun," said Shayla. "There are always caravans leaving Everlund. It won't hurt to spend a couple of days relaxing in the city, after passing through the High Forest as we did."

The conversation fell silent as they passed through the gates, under the watchful eyes of the armoured guards. Each man or woman stood tall and erect with a polearm in one hand and a short-sword sheathed at their hip. Though the guards gave their group a quick glance-over as they passed, they made no move to stop or question them, and a few moments later they were stepping out into the city proper.

"That was called the Bridge Gate," Lucas explained quietly to her. "There are five gates in and out of the city which stand open during the day and are closed at night. The other gates are the Silverymoon Gate, which you will pass through on your way out of the city, the Mountain Gate, which is also to the north, the Downriver Gate, and Upriver Gate, which is the start of the trail to Sundabar. Merchants come and go constantly, most of them with guards or mercenaries for protection."

"Where do the caravans go to?" she asked.

"Everywhere. Some travel as close as Silverymoon, others go to Sundabar in the east, others travel south along the Evermoor Way, to Triboar. From there they can travel down to Waterdeep, and along the Trade Way to Baldur's Gate, and from there across the Sea of Swords to Moonshae, or down the Coast way to Amn, and eventually even Tethyr or Calimport, or perhaps..."

"You're going to rot the poor lass's mind with names and places," said Duncan.

Esme ignored their banter as they walked through the streets of the city. Everything was new an unknown to her. The way the houses were built was a marvel. The strangers walking the dusty roads in their clothes of myriad cuts and colours were like a flock of interesting new birds for her to study. The large buildings that towered over others look both impressive and imposing, and she wondered what they were.

"Here we are," said Shayla, stopping outside a building that was longer than it was tall, and had a dark wooden shingle roof. "The Phantom Knight inn. So named because of the ghost that haunts it."

"Ghost?" asked Esme, suddenly apprehensive.

"Don't worry," said Belvar. "It only appears to those who are in danger, usually to warn or help them. You'll be fine. You're in no danger with us."

"Shall we?" said Shayla, and pushed the door open.

The inside of the inn was just how Esme had imagined inns to be. There were rows of benches around the walls, with tables stood in front of them, and chairs and stools dotted around. Though the inside was quite dark, it was also airy, and lit by small candles in sconces at regular intervals around the walls. The whole place was mostly dark, heavy wood and burnished brass, and it smelt of woodsmoke and cooking meat, which reminded Shayla of how hungry she was.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite elf of the Savage Frontier, and her merry band of miscreants," said a man behind the bar. He was just shy of his middle years, with thinning blond hair and a portly figure.

"May the gods favour your tavern, Master Harrol," said Shayla as she gracefully took a seat on one of the bar stools. "I hope that the past year has seen you well." It was with some fondness that the elf spoke to the man, though Esme only noticed it because she'd been travelling with the woman. To anybody who did not know her, Shayla's words and tone would have sounded distant, and maybe even a little cold, but Esme knew the other woman wouldn't be asking unless she truly cared about the answer.

"Well indeed, thank you. And yourself? You seem to have picked up another waif, by the looks of her."

Esme felt herself blush at the man's words. Why did everybody keep referring to her as a waif or a stray? It wasn't very polite.

"Esmerelle will be staying with us whilst we're here," said Shayla. "We'll need rooms, please. One double, one single, and two twins."

"Looks like you're sharing with me, then," Kiree whispered to her.

"Why?" she whispered back. "Who does Shayla share with?"

"Daeghun."

"Oh. I did wonder if they were... you know..."

"You can say 'lovers', it's not a sin," the halfling said with a grin. "But yeah. Belvar and Duncan will get the other twin room. Lucas always gets a room to himself. He snores something awful."

"I've never heard him snoring."

"That's because," said Lucas, interrupting their whispered conversation, "it never get a blocked nose outdoors. But inside, with all the smoke from the fire, and the alcohol... it's true, I do snore. Just ask Belvar."

"It's all very convenient if you ask me," Kiree winked at her.

"Here are your keys," said Shayla, handing one to Lucas, one to Kiree and the other to Belvar. "Do try not to lose them this time," she added with a pained look at Duncan.

"Come on," said Kiree, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her towards the stairs. "Let's get cleaned up and then come back down for a massive lunch, I'm _starving_ I tell you. And after we can go to the market and do some shopping."

She allowed the diminutive woman to shepherd her up the wide stairs, and into a room down a long corridor. The furnishings were much the same as they had been downstairs; dark wood and polished brass. The beds were small, but when she sat down on one, she realised they were more than comfy enough to sleep in. A small chest of drawers stood between the two single beds, and a large wardrobe stood to one side of the door. And, in the other corner of the room, was a copper bath tub.

"Wow, a real bath!" she said, staring at the shiny tub. "I haven't seen a real bath since I left the temple!"

"You're telling me," said Kiree. "Heh, just kidding! But let's just wash, for now. You can have a bath tonight, before bed. First of all there is food and shopping to be done."

"I'm starting to get the feeling you like shopping."

"Oh, I do. What's the point in having money if you can't spend it? It's going to be fun having another woman to shop with. Shayla's useless at it. We definitely need to buy some nice dresses and find a nice tavern to listen to some music and possibly meet some nice men."

"How long have Shayla and Daeghun been together?" she asked.

"Since practically forever. Daeghun was raised by Shayla's people, so they've known each other since they were young."

"And how did he and Duncan meet? Shayla said Duncan was raised by humans."

"Oh, the old family meeting story. I'll let Duncan tell you that," said Kiree, pulling her face. "It's boring. You stay here. I'll go and get Harrol to send up someone with water for us. I can't wait to get out of here and start having some fun."

The halfling disappeared before Esme could even open her mouth, and not for the first time, she wondered how old Kiree actually was. The thief seemed to have an air of perpetual youth about her. Not in the same way as Shayla and Daeghun, with their elven agelessness, but there was something about her personality that was innately child-like and endearing.

When she heard voices shouting outside, she went to the window and looked out. From here, she had an excellent view of the river, and of the rest of the city. Several large trading vessels, much like the ships owned by Aldar Zim, were moored at the docks, and men were carting barrels and bales to and fro, loading and offloading the boats. Children played amongst them, swinging from mooring lines and running up and down gangplanks. In the further distance she spied women carrying empty baskets on one arm walking along streets, and women with full baskets walking the opposite ways. She tried to imagine her own face on one of those women, tried to imagine herself wearing a dress, strolling down the street, going to buy her daily wares. For some reason, she simply couldn't. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't see herself as one of the crowd down below. She just hoped her imagination started improving before she reached Silverymoon, otherwise it was going to be very difficult to start a new life for herself.

o - o - o - o - o

"And she wants colours that Lathander would approve of," said Kiree to the dressmaker a few hours later. "You know, lots of nice deep reds, some orange or amber, some yellow, that sort of thing. In a dress. A long dress with beautiful flowing sleeves and a low ne... moderate," the halfling amended when Esme scowled at her, "neckline."

"Lift up your arms, please," said the dressmaker, and Esme obeyed her, holding up her arms so the dressmaker could measure her in every way possible.

"You know," said Lucas from behind a curtain. Men weren't allowed in the womens' dressing room, "red and yellow and orange is all good when you're in a city, but they're useless for staying hidden in forests and trails."

"Not to mention impractical!" Duncan added. For some reason, he seemed to disapprove of the idea of her wearing a dress. "You won't be able to run properly in one of those things, or ride properly either. And what happens when it gets all wet and creased?"

"We can get her some normal clothes too," said Kiree. "Dresses are just a treat. Every woman should have at least one fine dress to wear."

"You have a nice figure," said the dressmaker. "Wide hips are good for child-birth, and an ample bosom means you'll produce plenty of milk."

"I'm not a cow!" she said defensively, stepping down from the dress-maker's stool.

"No, but you might as well flaunt what you've got," Kiree grinned. "I do. But if I had your body, I'd never wear anything _but_ low-cut dresses."

"Why don't we just go and wait outside?" said Duncan, his voice sounding strangled. The shop bell made a tinkling sound as the door was opened and closed. Kiree burst out laughing.

"It is just far too easy to make that man uncomfortable at times," the halfling grinned. "But seriously, if you're planning on staying in Silverymoon, you should definitely have some nice dresses. You can't let the nobles out-do you, and the best way to catch the eye of a man is to wear something colourful."

"But nothing too gaudy," the dressmaker said. "You don't want to end up like some cheap Calimshite night-walker."

"Are we done here?" Esme asked gruffly. She _really_ didn't want advice on men from a halfling and a stranger. Right now, she had to concentrate on setting up a life somewhere. Men could come later.

"Yes, I'll have your dresses ready in a couple of days. Come back then," said the dressmaker, pulling back the curtain and letting them leave. Outside, the street was bustling, but there was no sign of either Duncan or Lucas. But Esme wasn't worried. As long as she was with Kiree, she would be able to find the Phantom Knight again.

"By the way," said Kiree, keeping her voice quiet. "If you ever need any... feminine things... just ask me. Shayla's useless at that too. Elves reproduce _really_ slowly, like, once every fifty or a hundred years or something. They have it _so_ lucky."

"Err, okay. Thanks for that," she said faintly. "How are we going to find Lucas and Duncan now?"

"They're over there, by the fountain," said Kiree, pointing. Esme followed the direction of her finger, and noticed both men lounging casually against the side of a beautiful marble fountain. How in Lathander's name had tiny Kiree spotted the two men from her lower elevation, whilst Esme had missed them entirely? "It's all about perceptiveness," Kiree shrugged when Esme asked her. "I bet you could spot tons of stuff in a forest that I would miss. It's something that comes with time. Don't worry about it."

"There you both are," said Duncan when he spied them approaching. "Got all your daily gossiping done? I hope so, because I'm off to the The Stag at Bay. Anybody want to come along?"

"No way," said Kiree. "We've got more shopping to do. We're buying underwear next. With frills and lace and-"

"Right, I'll see you back at the Phantom, then." And without another word, Duncan detached himself from the fountain and fell into the crowd that wove its way down the street.

"You can be positively cruel at times," said Lucas, hiding a smile beneath his moustache.

"I know, but you love me for it," Kiree grinned. "So, to the Bell Market?"

"Indeed."

"Why's it called the Bell Market?" Esme asked, falling into step between them.

"You'll see that when we get there," said Lucas.

"And why does Duncan want to go to The Stag at Bay when nobody else does?"

"Because," said Kiree, "it's a tavern that caters mainly for hunters and adventurers and people who want to be heroes. They spend their time telling tales of the valiant deeds, and of terrible beasts and monsters slain. Come sun-down, that bear that mauled him will be twelve feet tall and fire-breathing, and he would have slain it single-handedly."

"Why would he lie about something like that?" she asked. _Lying is a sin in the eyes of Lathander,_ she thought, but did not say. The others were probably tired of hearing it from her by now.

"It's the age old tradition of making your deeds sound more heroic than they actually are," Lucas explained. "Adventurers and bards have been doing it since the first stories were told, because the bigger the risk and the danger, the people want to hear it. Nobody wants to hear a story of a knight who went and peacefully talked a dragon into handing over the princess. But slaying dragons in bloody, violent battle? That's a story that never gets old, in the eyes of the common man, at least. True musicians only fall back on their stock of such tales when the company is too low-brow to understand polysyllabic allegories."

"Now you've got him started," said Kiree, rolling her eyes. Esme smiled.

"And here we are," said Lucas, gesturing at the area opening in front of them. Esme looked around, and saw stall after stall of markets. They sold fruit and vegetables and chickens and pheasants and bolts of cloth and silk and wool, tools such as axes, ropes, whetstones and anvils, swords, knives, bows and staves, pots and pans and horseshoes, small statues and boxes and a thousand different trinkets which were all completely alien to her. The sky-line was dominated by a large, circular grey and white stone building, beside which stood a dark stone single-turret keep. In front of the keep, in two neat rows, were six long, single-storey buildings facing each other, and in the space between them, mounted in a huge, wooden frame, was a large, gold-coloured bell that glinted in the sun. The market itself was set in front of the open space which housed the bell, and could have fit twice again as many stalls inside it.

"It's made of bronze," said Lucas, seeing her gaze lingering on the bell. "Or brass. You'll have to ask Belvar if you want to know for sure. It's sounded to warn of an invading force... or to signal a retreat if the force proves too overwhelming."

"Lucas, Kiree, Esmerelle," called a voice not too far away. They all turned and saw Daeghun and Shayla standing beside yet another white marble fountain. It was Shayla who had shouted of them, and now she gestured them over. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"Just to the tailor's shop," said Kiree. "Esmerelle and I are having dressed made, and Duncan wanted some new trousers."

"We thought you should know," said Daeghun to Lucas, "that there are several horse-traders in town. If you wish to find a new mount, you should go and speak with the traders before their best stock is sold."

"I'll be back later," said Lucas, and hurried away into the crowd. Esme watched him go until his green and blue cloak was out of sight. Then she turned back to the elves. Though Daeghun was still wearing his leathers, he'd left his bow behind. His only weapon was a small dagger sheathed at his belt, and she didn't doubt that he knew how to use it. Shayla, meanwhile, had doffed her bearskin cloak and was dressed simply in her hide shorts and a sleeveless dark blue shirt. She still looked strange, with her feathery headband and flowing tattoos sprawling across her skin, but she didn't get as many curious looks from passers-by as Esme would have expected. Everlund, it seemed, was quite tolerant of strangers. Even strange strangers.

"We were about to enter the All Faiths Hall, to offer thanks to Shevarash for our recent hunt," said Daeghun.

"Who's Shevarash?" Esme asked.

"The god of vengeance and hatred of the drow," said Shayla amicably. "Would you like to join us? Though the shrines are mainly dedicated to Mielikki, Waukeen, Shaundakul, Oghma and Malar, prayers to any god of good intent are accepted here."

"Thank you, I'd like that," she said. A shrine wasn't as good as a temple, but it was better than praying over her book, as she had been doing for the past years.

"I'll wait here for you," said Kiree, taking a seat on the side of the fountain.

Esme followed the elves into the shrine area, sticking as close as she could to the pair to avoid being separated by the milling throngs of people. Three shrines were standing facing inwards, as if on the points of a triangle, and a smaller, fourth shrine was set a little further away.

"Valear would have loved to have seen this," said Shayla, gazing up at one of the shrines that had wind-chimes set above it.

"Your cousin will make his own journey in his own time," said Daeghun. Was she just imagining it, or did Daeghun sound slightly disapproving as he spoke?

"Over here," said Shayla, gesturing to the smaller shrine. "This is where prayers can be made to other gods. In the morning, we can take you to visit the main temple of Lathander here, if you like. That's when you're supposed to say your prayers to him, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's right. But won't your gods become offended if you offer them prayers surrounded by shrines of other gods?" she asked curiously.

"No. My people don't worship Tel'Seldarine exclusively, although we do offer prayers to Rillifane Rallathil more often than others. We also pray to Fenmarel Mestarine, Mielikki, Silvanus and Gwaeron Windstrom, amongst others. We worship not only the gods, but the spirits of nature and of animals too, and pray as often to these spirits for good fortune and sanctuary as we do to the gods."

Daeghun wandered away, and came back a moment later bearing three small candles. He gave one to Shayla, one to Esme, and kept one for himself. "We like to light candles as we say our prayers and give our thanks," he explained. "Some people choose to burn small items on the ritual fires, or to leave behind offerings of food or wealth. Shevarash will simply be satisfied that we have carried out his will in stopping a drow raiding party, and you can perfect your own prayers and offerings, over time."

She nodded, and took the candle to the shrine, waiting patiently behind the small line of people as they said their prayers, some silently, some aloud. They prayed to Chauntea and Ilmater and a host of other gods whose names she barely even recognised. They prayed for healing, for wealth, for good fortune or good luck in their endeavours. They prayed for themselves, or for others, but all she could think was that some of these prayers were completely unnecessary. People shouldn't _need_ to pray for healing, they should be able to go to the priests for it. People shouldn't _need_ to pray for food, they should be able to earn it or receive it from the city in exchange for paying taxes. They shouldn't _need_ to ask for good fortune, they should just work hard, apply themselves, and learn to make their own success. Gods rarely granted such physical boons directly... at least, that's what she'd always been taught.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she listened in to the prayer of the woman before her as she approached the shrine and lit her candle with a wooden splint, taking fire from another candle and transferring it to her own.

"Ilmater," the woman said as she placed her candle upon the shrine. "Please help Karla to remain strong for just one more week. Please help to give her the strength and the will to survive, and I will give up anything you ask of me in return."

Esme's interest was immediately piqued. It sounded like this 'Karla' was injured or sick. But why should another week make any difference? Why not a day, or a month? 'Just one more week' sounded like a very specific period of time. She fixed the image of the woman's back in her mind, and then quickly placed her candle on the shrine, lighting it with a splint.

_Lathander, grant me forgiveness and the strength I will need in my new life. And please bless the people I travel with, for they have done more for me that I could ever have asked._

Her prayer was hurried, though she put as much effort into it as possible, and she quickly moved away from the shrine, looking around for the woman who had prayed before her. When she began to walk away, Shayla called out to her, but she assured the elf she'd be back momentarily. With her gaze fixed on the back of the woman she was _sure_ had spoken be for her, she trotted along the dusty road.

"Excuse me," she said, tapping the woman on the shoulder. The woman turned, and Esme noticed dark circles of tiredness under her eyes. Her skin was pale and greying, and her face, which looked like it should be quite young, was lined before its time. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to overhear the prayer that you said at the shrine... I was just wondering... is Karla injured?"

"Karla... my daughter..." the woman said, with tears forming in her tired eyes. "She was taken sick over two week ago. At first it was just a fever, but now it's turned into relentless coughing. She coughs night and day, and can't sleep because of it. Sometimes she struggles to breathe."

"How old is your daughter?"

"She's just turned three."

"Has she started being sick yet? Vomiting the food and water you give her?"

"Yes, last night," said the woman, brushing tears from her eyes.

"It sounds like it could be whooping cough. It's very contagious. Why hasn't a priest seen to her?"

"I took her to a priest the first week she got ill, but I couldn't afford the treatment he offered. The clerics here hold an open temple once a month, to cure the injured and the ill free of charge. The next session is a week today, and I can only hope that Karla will last that long."

"Could I have a look at her?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager. "I have knowledge of healing potions, and I've studied as an acolyte of Lathander. I learnt some healing spells during my time with the priests. I'd like to help your daughter, if I can."

"I... I don't know..." the woman said, obviously anxious about letting an untried stranger near her sick daughter.

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, approaching with Daeghun behind her. "It is time for us to find Kiree and return to the inn."

"Can you just give me a moment?" she asked. "This lady's daughter is sick, and I want to try to help her. I think it might be whooping cough... do you know what that is?"

"Yes," Shayla nodded, with a frown on her brows. "Very few die from whooping cough itself, but there can be... complications. Pneumonia, seizures... the complications are far more serious than the disease itself."

"The girl... Karla... she's started vomiting, too," Esme explained. "If she can't keep food down, she'll grow weaker and weaker every day, and I'm afraid that pneumonia might set in."

"No, not might Karla!" the woman cried, burying her face in her hands. "She's just a child."

"Esmerelle is very good at healing," said Shayla gently. "Just a few days ago I saw her fix a broken leg as good as new. Surely there can be no harm in letting her examine your daughter?"

"Alright," the woman relented. "And thank you."

"What's your name?" Esmerelle asked.

"Lucidia."

"Well then, Lucidia, Shayla and I will come and see Karla with you. Daeghun will go back to Kiree and wait for us at the inn, because whooping cough is infectious, and we don't need more people than necessary exposed to it. I'd also like to take a look at you, once we get to your home, in case you're showing symptoms. And anybody else who's come into contact with Karla since she developed the fever. Is that alright?"

Lucidia nodded, and Daeghun waited for Shayla to prod him before leaving All Faiths Hall to find Kiree. Meanwhile, Esme wrapped one arm around Lucidia and allowed the woman to lead her back to her house, as Shayla followed behind. And, as she walked, she sent a silent prayer to Lathander, asking him to guide her... and praying that she hadn't jumped in over her head.


	12. The Hand of Friendship

Chapter 12.

The Hand of Friendship

"_When we hurt each other we should write it down in the sand, so the winds of forgiveness can make it go away for good. When we help each other we should chisel it in stone, lest we never forget the love of a friend."_ - Christian H. Godefroy

o - o - o - o - o

Esme stepped out of the small, run-down house and closed the door behind her. As she leant back against the wall, she removed the handkerchief she'd tied around her nose and mouth, and inhaled deeply the clean, fresh air. Beside her, Shayla did the same.

"You have a healer's touch," said the elf.

"So do you," Esme replied.

"No. It is true that I can heal people. It is one of many things that I can do, one of many powers granted to me by the spirits. But I do not have any burning desire to see people healed. I do not see suffering and feel driven to relieve it, as you do. Perhaps you should give up worshipping Lathander and join the Ilmatari. I'm sure they'd be more than glad to accept you into their ranks."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick with the Morninglord for now."

"Well, if you're done healing the whole of Everlund, we should return to the inn. No doubt the others will be waiting for us."

She nodded, and let Shayla lead the way back to The Phantom Night. As she walked, she thought about Karla and Lucidia. The young girl had looked so wretched and poorly, it was no wonder her mother was getting no sleep. She probably stayed up every night worrying about her daughter... but at least, after today, they would both be able to sleep again. Healing the whooping cough had been the easy part, something she did with a healing spell. But the girl was weak from the coughing fits that had racked her body for over two weeks, and undernourished from not being able to keep food down. She'd told Lucidia to come to the Phantom tomorrow, after she'd had time to prepare some potions to strengthen the girl's body. She would also provide potions for Lucidia and her twelve year old son, just in case either of them had been infected by the whooping cough too. Neither of them was showing symptoms, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

Lucidia had been sickeningly grateful, trying to press cheap jewelry onto Esme as a token of her thanks. She had firmly refused. She didn't need paying for doing the right thing, she told Lucidia, when the woman insisted on her taking at least _something_ as thanks for all she'd done. Eventually, Shayla had had to step in, and told Lucidia even more firmly that Esmerelle was currently eschewing worldly goods. That finally seemed to settle the woman, and they'd been allowed to leave in peace.

Now, walking down the dusty streets, she found herself angry at the priests of this place for with-holding healing for the poor. It was all well and good offering free healing once a month, but the people who were seriously ill or close to death couldn't wait that long. What would have happened if more people had been infected with Karla's whooping cough, and spread it around? It could quickly have turned into an epidemic, and then the priests would have been _inundated_ with sick people. She said as much to Shayla, who was quiet for a moment as she thought about it.

"The way people see magic, and healing," the elf explained, "is that it's not a right, but a commodity, to be bought like anything else. In some places, priests _do_ heal people for free, especially the poorer folks who have little to pay. But there are not many priests here, and if they always gave healing magic for free, people would always expect it of them, and they'd never have time to devote to other tasks and services. This way, people are more inclined to go first to herbalists, people like you and I and many others who cure through nature."

"Meanwhile, anybody rich enough to afford healing, no matter how insignificant their problem, can have it whenever they want it."

"It's how the churches operate," Shayla shrugged.

"Well it's not right!"

"Maybe not, but it's the way it is, and you can't change it all on your own."

"I wish I could."

"And that's what makes you a good healer. You care a lot. Some might say too much, but I believe you can never care too much about something."

She followed Shayla silently into The Phantom Knight and found Kiree sitting at a table with Daeghun. Of Duncan, Lucas and Belvar there was no sign, but she supposed they were all off on their own errands - or in Duncan's case, telling tales in The Stag at Bay. She and Shayla took stools opposite the others.

"We've ordered food," Daeghun said.

"How did the healing go?" Kiree asked.

"It went fine," she replied. "The little girl should be well, now, though I'm going to brew potions for the family later tonight. I told them to come by here tomorrow."

"By Arvoreen, don't let word get out that you're giving healing away for free, otherwise you'll never be left in peace."

"I'd prefer to be kept busy than see people suffering unnecessarily."

"Your food, my friends," said Harrol, appearing with two serving girls bearing trays of food. They spread the platter out on the table in front of them, and Esme inhaled the wonderful scent of cooked food. It felt like years since she'd last had a proper cooked meal, even though it had only been a couple of weeks.

"Thank you, Harrol," said Shayla, handing around empty plates that one of the girls gave to her.

"I'll leave you folks to eat in peace."

"I could get used to this," Esme said, staring at the food. "Is there anything I can do to repay you for all your help and kindness? You've already paid for my room and my food... I want to make it up to you, in some way."

"Just as Lucidia wanted to repay you for healing her daughter," said Shayla.

"That's different," she said with a guilty blush.

"You've no need to repay us, Esmerelle," said Daeghun. "You've already healed Duncan's leg, and provided us with maps to help find our way through the High Forest. Even if you had not, we would not have left you to wander the streets of Everlund, hungry and alone."

"Yeah. Eat up," Kiree grinned. "After a few days on the open road, you'll wish you could eat like this every night."

"Maybe I will, in Silverymoon," she smiled. "But tell me something... how did you all meet and start travelling together?"

"That's a tale best left for when we're all together," said Shayla. "For we each have our own part in it, and Lucas would be upset we told it without him. Ask again when the others show up, and I'm sure you'll hear the full tale."

They ate in companionable silence until Esme felt she could eat no more, even though there was still food on the plates. She washed it down with a drink of red wine, then excused herself and went up to the bedroom she shared with Kiree. Though she didn't want to admit the others, coming here, being social, and healing Karla, had all taken their toll on her. She had done so many things today that she simply wasn't used to doing, and felt exhausted for it. When she reached the room, she simply took off her shoes and crawled into bed, revelling in the softness of the mattress and the warmth of the blankets as her body heated them up. Before she slept, she thanked Lathander for everything in her life. She might not be the envy of bards everywhere, but at least now she _had_ a life again, even if she wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do with it.

o - o - o - o - o

"Esmerelle, wake up."

She opened her eyes to find the room mostly in darkness, with Kiree standing above her, gently shaking her shoulder. A half-remembered dream played on the edge of her consciousness; she was living in Silverymoon, in a large house that she shared with Aggie, Eldon and Ali, where they'd live together as a family. Aggie cooked and cleaned and brewed potions, whilst Eldon taught her and Ali about Lathander, and taught them how to fight with their maces.

"What is it?" she asked as the dream began to fade.

"It's night time. You slept through the whole afternoon. The others are back, and we've got food on the way. Lucas said I should wake you so you can eat. You know, you'll never get to sleep tonight, now that you've slept most of the day."

"I think I'll manage," she said wryly, pushing herself up from the bed and feeling her muscles aching. She wasn't used to travelling day after day, and now that she'd found a comfy bed again, her body was finally catching up with the nearly three-hundred miles she'd walked through the High Forest. "I'll be down in a moment."

"Don't be too long, or the food will start going cold."

Kiree disappeared, leaving the door open so that the light from the hallway illuminated the dark room. Esme dragged her boots towards her and fastened them loosely before leaving the room and locking the door behind her. It wasn't that she had anything to steal, but Kiree might not want the door leaving unlocked whilst nobody was inside.

Down in the common room, she found everybody seated around the same table they'd dined at earlier, and joined them, sitting on the bench beside Lucas and opposite Belvar. Harrol and his serving girls were already at work, ferrying trays of delicious-smelling food from the kitchen to their table. Then she realised that the room was much busier than it had been before; a large proportion of the table had occupants, some were small groups talking quietly, others were larger, noisier groups, and some were couples who were in their own little worlds, ignoring the noisy groups around them.

"Welcome back, Esmerelle," said Shayla. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a log," she replied. "I'm not used to drinking wine during the day, I think it made me sleepy."

"Drinking during the day is something you can only get used to with practice," said Duncan, managing to slur some of his words.

"Duncan, for example, has been drinking from the moment he arrived in The Stag at Bay," said Lucas, a note of disgust in his voice.

"No harm in drinking whilst we're here," the half-elf countered. "S'not like we have to be up early or on our guard."

"You should _always_ be on your guard, even when you are in civilisation. It only takes one mugger to see you stumbling and blind drunk, and before you're know it you've been robbed of all your items and you're nursing a split skull."

"I hate muggers," said Kiree, wrinkling her delicate nose. "They give thieves a bad name. No tact, no style, they're just thugs who take your stuff once they've finished beating you up. A real thief doesn't need to hurt anyone to make money."

"Is it really that dangerous here?" Esme asked.

"Not really, no," said Belvar. "Lucas just likes to make everything sound dangerous. He's got it down to an art form. Mostly, the city guards take care of trouble. And in most towns and cities, the criminal element is mostly confined to a single area."

"Your main worry is rogue criminals or the criminally insane," said Kiree affably. "Organised criminals tend to stick to things like extortion or large scale crime. They'll only mug you or steal from you if they get really desperate, and they mostly leave mercenaries and adventurers alone. Then of course you've got your con-men, who aren't always men, your pick-pockets, your opportunists..."

"Don't worry," said Shayla, seeing her dawning look of horror. "We'll make sure you're in good care in Silverymoon."

"Will you tell me how you all met now?" she asked.

"Ah, my favourite tale," said Lucas. "And one that is rarely told. Let me play us some quite background music." He reached under the table and withdrew his harp from his bag, then sat back and plucked gently on the strings. Within a few minutes he'd worked up to a gentle melody that reminded her of a gently flowing river. "T'is a tale that spans many decades, and the telling of the first of those is not mine. It's with Shayla and Daeghun that our tale begins, so I'll let them tell you of the first years."

"When Daeghun and I left my people," Shayla began, "it was because I needed to start my Journey, which all shamen must undertake in their lifetime. For some, the Journey lasts only a few years. For others, it can last their entire lives. My mother is shaman, as am I, and because I am my mother's only child, she had high hopes for me. I set out, not knowing how long it would take me to master myself and the ways of shaman, and I naïvely thought I would be done and back home within a few years. For some time, we wandered, and I tested myself constantly. I overcame every obstacle and succeeded at every turn, and thought myself wise. I returned to my people, and to my mother's judgement. She found me lacking. She told me to try again, and not to return until I had mastered the ways of the shaman."

"Your own mother made you leave?" she asked, horrified that any mother could be so cruel. Shayla simply looked amused at the question.

"No, she did not _make_ me leave. I could have and still can return any time I wish. I can rejoin my people and become a hunter, and defend our lands against intrusion. But if I wish to be shaman, I must complete my journey. That choice is mine, and mine alone. It is one I made long ago, and I will see it out to the end. I began, when I left a second time, to experiment with herbs and vision-quests. There I met my guide, Ashara, who takes me to the world of spirits and protects me whilst I'm there. On one such vision quest, I received in my mind an image of a large city nestled upon the coast. I didn't know where this place was, for my people have no experience of cities, except for Suldanessellar, which a few of my people travel to once every few hundred years to renew ties with our kin there. But I knew this was a human city because it lacked the grace and harmony of Suldanessellar, and I knew it could not have been constructed by other elves because I had seen Illefarn ruins, and was somewhat familiar with the architecture.

"We did the only thing I could think to do; we travelled to the coast. I was determined to find the city in my vision, so we went first to the city closest to my people's lands. It was Neverwinter, and even viewing it from afar, I knew that it wasn't the city of my dream. Then, we travelled north, into Illusk lands, and saw from a distance the city of Luskan. This was even less like the city I had seen than Neverwinter was, so we began to travel south. The next city we came to was Waterdeep, and I knew as soon as I neared it that this was the place I had seen. I didn't know why I'd been sent there, but we entered the city all the same, and spent the day looking around. It was all very... different."

"We had never seen buildings of stone up close before," said Daeghun. "To me, the whole thing felt like a giant stone forest. Instead of trees towering above us, there were buildings, with domes and towers and dark rooves. It was both familiar and disturbing. We had no idea what the buildings were, but by observing those around us, we slowly came to understand. The wild elves have no concept of currency. They are entirely self sufficient, and rarely trade with outsiders. On the few occasions that they do, say, with the dwarves for smelted metals, they barter with goods, not with gold or money."

"What kind of goods?" Esme asked, fascinated. She herself was more familiar with bartering goods than using money, because she had paid for her provisions bought from Aldar Zim with potions. But what could the wild elves barter for something as valuable as metals?

"The furs that we make from animal hides are the softest and warmest in the lands," said Shayla, running a hand over her own bear cloak. "And we make jewelry carved from tooth and bone. Many dwarves appreciate the detail that goes into one of our orc-tooth necklaces, not least because of the danger involved in collecting the teeth. We also sometimes allowed wood to be taken from our forest, and this is very valuable to many peoples."

"We learnt," Daeghun continued, "that many of the buildings we saw were shops, and that to purchase goods, we would need money. And the same for the inns and taverns we encountered. When night fell, we left the city and camped outside in the woods, and then returned at first light. We began to ask around, enquiring how we might go about getting some of this 'money', but we were often met with laughter, or ignored because of our outlandish garb. I believe many of the Waterdhavians thought us barbarians, and looking back, it wasn't hard to understand why. Our enquiries took us further and further away from the well-to-do areas of the city, and into one of the poorer districts. The people there had little money of their own, and we were often met with hostility when we asked where we might find some. As we walked the roads of the poor area, we were followed by several men; dirty, foul-smelling humans who thought that two strangers would be easy prey. They attacked us in an alleyway, and might have succeeded in doing us real harm had Belvar not come to our aid."

"He was the only one that stopped," said Shayla, smiling at the dwarf. "Many other people passed by the alley and pretended they did not see, or ran in the opposite direction when they heard the fray."

"Hmph. Bloody cowards," Belvar grumbled. Esme realised that Lucas' playing had increased in tempo and changed in pitch, conveying a sense of haste and danger. "By Moradin's hammer, I wish I could've given some of those folks who ran a piece of my mind."

"But what happened in the fight?" she asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

"What happened? We gave them a good beating is what happened! Don't listen to Daeghun, they were doing just fine without me, but I couldn't just walk by and ignore a group of humans out-numbering somebody in a fight, even if they were a pair of strangely-dressed elves. Anyway, after we'd done handing out punishment, we got to talking, and Shayla told me about all the problems they were having. So I took 'em to a tavern and bought 'em a drink and explained all about economics. It just so happened that I'd had a... er... minor falling out with some of my clan earlier that day, and I was planning to leave for Baldur's Gate, to spend some time researching history."

"Researching history?" said Shayla, a tone of gentle mocking in her voice. "You were looking for the final resting place of Balduran. He was convinced that the explorer never returned to Anachrome, and that he died somewhere in Faerûn," the elf explained.

"And to this day I maintain that theory," Belvar huffed.

"Perhaps you can expand upon it another time," said Daeghun.

"Fine, fine. I know you don't want to hear my theories again. Anyway, as I said, I'd hired on as a caravan guard, heading to Baldur's Gate. Shayla decided that I was the reason she'd been given a Waterdeep, and they followed me all the way down The Trade Way, always sticking to the forests and the woods, tracking the caravan as it travelled, making the rest of the guards and drivers all jumpy. Why they didn't just come out and travel with us directly was a mystery."

"We were wary around the strangers," Daeghun explained. "The guards and mercenaries were well armed, and we didn't have a good experience of people so far."

"They followed me into the city and stalked my every movement, waiting outside taverns and libraries, then running off and following me to my next destination. After a few days I got fed up of being followed so I invited 'em into the tavern for a drink, and we had a nice long talk about why they were following me and what exactly they wanted. Shayla explained her vision things to me, and I knew I wasn't going to get rid of 'em until they got what they wanted. So when it was time to leave, I suggested we travel together, that way I could teach 'em about civilisation and whatnot, and they could finally stop skulking in the shadows."

"We travelled the Sword Coast while Belvar hunted for any signs of Balduran," said Shayla. "We followed wherever he led, and before I knew it, ten years had passed since I'd first left my people."

"I never did find Balduran's tomb," said Belvar. "I haven't given up, but I spend my time on other research now."

"As Daeghun, Shayla and Belvar travelled together," said Lucas, "I, as a young and reckless man, travelled the length of the Sword Coast, from Icewind Dale to Calimport. I hunted for music and adventure in equal quantities, and found more than my fair share of both. I spent a lot of time making my fortune by playing at inns and taverns, and later noble mansions, around Calimshan and Amn. When the war of succession in Tethyr began getting a little too bloody, I made my way north, planning to lose myself somewhere in my music. But first I needed supplies. I'd just travelled several hundred miles in a particularly harsh winter and needed somewhere to rest and make some money to buy supplies enough to see me through the next two seasons.

"Waterdeep was the closest city to me, and I knew I would find a warm reception there. But it seemed other minstrels had the same idea, for the first two inns I came to were full of them. I left, naturally, and wandered the city, looking for a tavern devoid of song or dance. I found one, a quiet little back-water place, and decided it would have to do. There weren't half as many patrons as I would have liked, and most of them looked as if they could barely string three sentences together, but I had to give the place the benefit of the doubt. Halfway through my first performance I noticed a strange group of folks; two strangely-clad elves and a dwarf, seated and drinking together. That is, in itself, an oddity, and I simply had to find out more. I went over and introduced myself, and after they'd all gotten over their initial awe at meeting such a fine, renowned bard," Belvar grunted with amusement, "we started talking. They invited me to join them on their adventures-"

"You invited yourself along," Belvar corrected.

"And we spent considerable time escorting merchants, chasing knowledge and hunting for songs. For over ten years we travelled together, working well as a team... and then we met Duncan."

"Sure, make it sound like the worst thing in the world," the half-elf complained.

"How did you find Daeghun and the others?" Esmerelle asked. "Or did they find you?"

"Find me? They didn't even know I existed. I was born and raised in Elturel, some two hundred miles due east of Baldur's Gate. My mother was a wood elf, and my father a human, though they're both dead now, he of old age and she of a sickness. Before she died, my mother told me that she'd had another husband and another son, quite some time before me. As you can imagine, it came as quite a surprise. Apparently, she'd lived in Ardeep with her family, but when the elves decided to take part in the Retreat, she didn't want to go. Her husband did, and he wanted to take his son, Daeghun, with him. My mother couldn't bear the thought of her son being raised on Evermeet - she wasn't a big fan of non-wood-elves - so she took her son and ran. She ended up in the Kryptgarden Forest, where she met a tribe of wild elves. They weren't wood elves, but they were a hell of a lot closer than sun elves, so she left her son in their care and returned to Ardeep to tell her husband that their son had died. Naturally, full of grief and rightfully blaming her, he left with the others."

"I was too young to remember any of this," said Daeghun. "I cannot remember the faces of my mother and father. The first memories I have are of Shayla's people."

"My mother was overcome by guilt about what she'd done," Duncan continued. "She then realised that a real mother would never deprive a child of his father. Instead of returning to claim her son back, she left him where he was, realising the wild elves would do a better job of raising him than she did. So she roamed around and eventually settled down in Elturel, where she met my father. When she fell pregnant with me, she decided she'd do a better job on family number two." Here, Duncan sounded quite bitter. "But it was difficult for her, seeing her husband age day by day whilst she remained young. Not long after he died, she took sick, and told me all of this. She made me promise to find her son, Daeghun, and tell him of her, and tell him that both his mother and father had loved him. After she passed away, I travelled to the Kryptgarden forest to find the wild elves. There, one of their rather surly hunters told me he'd already left years ago, and asked me to leave, never return, and never speak Daeghun's name to him again. I don't know what you did to him, brother, but he definitely wasn't a fan."

"Just continue with the story," Daeghun said shortly.

"Of course, I had no idea where Daeghun had gone, so made myself a bit of money and hired a wizard to scry his location for me. I then spent the next two years of my life hopping from one town and city to another, seemingly always a step behind my brother. And I finally caught up with him in Yartar. He didn't believe me at first, he thought I was just some charlatan trying to leech off him. It wasn't until we hired yet another wizard to do a magical test to prove we shared the same blood that he finally stopped being quite as suspicious of me."

"And what about you, Kiree?" asked Esme.

"As I mentioned before, I grew up in Silverymoon. Had a mother, a father, two sisters and a brother. Good family life, no emotional traumas... not really sure what went wrong with me," she grinned. "I just liked taking things. I liked the challenge of pinching things and doing it unnoticed. It was a thrill for me. I was just a kid when I made the mistake of trying to steal an amulet from a strangely dressed elven woman. Shayla caught me, of course, and threatened to turn me into a weasel if I stole anything from her again. It didn't stop me from stealing from other people, but whenever Shayla and the rest came through Silverymoon, she always brought a present for me. Sometimes a sweet cake, sometimes a piece of jewelry fashioned from wood or shell, sometimes a nice fur cloak. I guess she sort of adopted me as her own urchin or something."

"You reminded me of a cousin of mine," Shayla sniffed.

"As I grew older, I wanted more of a challenge. I fell in with a bad crowd, started working with the Shadow Thieves. I quickly realised that organised crime wasn't for me. The Thieves do things on a _much _larger scale than I wanted to be a part of." The halfling stopped to take a long draught of her ale. "But nobody leaves the Shadow Thieves, once they're a member. Not without help from powerful friends, at least. When Shayla next came to Silverymoon, I told her about my desire to leave, and about the difficult I knew I'd have. She invited me to travel with her, to get away from the Thieves and make it clear to them that my allegiances had changed. It was almost ten years ago, and since then, the Thieves have tried to get me back or at least punish me, but we've managed to stay one step ahead of them. It helps that Silverymoon is well patrolled, and guards take any chance they can get to arrest somebody they think might be a Shadow Thief."

"And have you mastered become a Shaman yet?" she asked Shayla.

"Not yet," the elf smiled wanly.

"Before we start getting too deep in our cups," said Lucas, putting down his harp reverentially on the bench beside him, "I thought I should tell you all that I spoken with one of the caravan drivers and he's hired us on. We'll be leaving the day after the morrow."

"You should have consulted with the rest of us before taking such a decision into your own hands," said Daeghun.

"Just as you should have consulted me before deciding to cut through the High Forest, thus robbing me of my horse."

"Very well. Where are we going?"

"To Silverymoon."

"But we were in Silverymoon just six months ago."

"Yes, but from Silverymoon we can pass through the heart of Luruar and the Nether Mountains, to Sundabar. There are always caravans travelling to Sundabar."

"We can get to Sundabar much more quickly from here."

"But if we go to Silverymoon first, we can help Esmerelle to settle in, and I... I mean we... can show her all of the wonderful sights. There's more to life than work and duty, Daeghun. Sometimes it's worth spending a little time going out of your way and relaxing than it is rushing from place to place."

"Did you know he would do this when you suggested sending him off on his own?" Daeghun asked Shayla. The woman shrugged and held up her hands, but didn't deny it.

"Sounds like a fine plan to me," said Belvar. There's a scholar I wanted to seek out at the Vault of the Sages last time we were there, but I didn't have time."

"And there's bound to be plenty of festivals in the city at this time of year," said Kiree happily.

"Perhaps I'll buy myself a new blade from the Market there," Duncan mused. "This old sword's getting a bit worn."

Esme was silent as the others talked excitedly about what they were going to do once they arrived in the city, and all the sights they wanted to show her. She was pleased that they would be travelling to Silverymoon with her, and glad that she wouldn't feel like a total stranger there, but couldn't help feeling bad that Lucas and Daeghun had argued about travelling there, especially since Daeghun didn't seem to want to go. She was so distracted by her own thoughts, that she didn't notice the ethereal blue squirrel scamper up the table leg and come to rest on her out-stretched arm. When she did notice, she startled in fright, then looked at Shayla. The elf smiled at her, and Esme thought she could almost hear the other woman's words. _Don't worry. It will be alright._


	13. Treant's Hall

Chapter 13.

Treant's Hall

_"A poet could not but be gay,_

_In such a jocund company."_ - William Wordsworth

o - o - o - o - o

Sat atop the tall bay horse that Lucas had bought for her as a gift, Esme scanned the horizon. Behind her, the ten small carts and caravans that made up the team she and her friends were escorting rolled at a sedate pace along the paved ground. The large draught-horses were slow and steady, and they ate mile after mile of road without needing to rest. They were already well into their second day of travel from Everlund, and Duncan had told her - with a happy grin - that they'd be in Silverymoon before nightfall.

Something of a holiday atmosphere had settled over the people she travelled with. They were travelling to Silverymoon not for work, but for rest and relaxation. Kiree had advised her, with no small amount of glee, that most festivals took place in Kythorn and Flamerule, and even when winter began to set in, the dwarves held celebrations below the worst of the weather in their Undercity home.

As the afternoon passed, and there was no sign of any trouble on the road, she fell back to Lucas' side, and rode with him in silence for a while. For once, he wasn't muttering to himself or humming under his breath, so it seemed quite safe to talk to him without interrupting something.

"I'm grateful that you're all coming to Silverymoon with me," she said. "But could I just ask... why? I know what you told Daeghun, but why are you so interested in showing me everything that the city has to offer?"

"Ah," he said. "Now that is a very good question. Did you know that you only get one chance to make a first impression? The first time you see something new is the _only_ time that you see it new, because when you see it a second time, it ceases to be new and becomes old, and if it changes and you see it again, it isn't the thing that you once saw, but something else. I've travelled up and down the Sword Coast and seen a lot of things. So much so that there are very few new things left for me to see, without putting myself in terrible danger to examine the fey'ri of Hellgate Keep, for example. So for old folks like me, the only way we can relive that moment of seeing something anew is to experience it in the company of one who has never experienced it before. Your own awe and wonder at everything life has to offer reminds me of my own youth, and makes me feel young again."

"I suppose that makes sense," she admitted.

"I'm glad you think so, because there is plenty for you to see and do in Silverymoon. During the summer months, every day is a festival. The temples throw open their gates to admit worshippers from all races, the streets are lined with bards and minstrels from sun-up well past sun-down, and the city is filled with joy as countless couples say their vows of marriage."

"You make it sound so wonderful and alive. I can't imagine any work getting done in a place like that."

"Work always goes on, but it is shared around and split over different days, so that everybody has a proper chance to celebrate."

"And what... exactly... are they celebrating?"

"Art, music, summer, life. Everything, really. The summer months are so short, this far north, that people like to make the best of the weather whilst they can. Summer is the time when minstrels can play outdoors, when there is enough room for people to dance in the streets. It is the season of plenty. Plenty of food, plenty of drink, plenty of company, and it's all shared around by family and friends. Most people don't need any more excuse than that to have a festival."

She nodded, and they continued in silence. She'd never been to a festival before, and even though it sounded impressive, it also sounded loud and crowded, and she wasn't at all sure if she'd like it. Would Lucas and the others feel bad if she didn't want to spend every day celebrating? She didn't want to alienate her new friends, but neither did she want to spend all of her time in crowds of strangers. She glanced at Daeghun and Shayla, who were walking side by side - apart from she and Lucas, only Duncan had a horse, though Kiree sometimes sat up behind Lucas' saddle - and realised she might not have to spend all of her time in festivities after all. Both elves seem leery of large crowds, and she didn't really see Daeghun as the type to relax and open up and have fun with those around him, even in a carnival atmosphere. Otherwise he wouldn't have objected to travelling to Silverymoon... would he?

It was only fifty miles from Everlund to Silverymoon, though the trail sometimes rose high into the hills before descending again, and Esme was glad for the horse, which she'd named Blaze because of the thick, white stripe that ran down its forehead. Whilst riding, she didn't have to worry about growing tired and out of breath whenever the road began to ascend, and from her higher vantage point, she had a better view of the land around her. This far north, the land was all verdant forests and high hills leading to mountains, interspersed with narrow flood plains, with empty moorland in the distance. Though the landscape around her was mostly green, it was, in places, beginning to take on tinges of yellow-brown, and she realised that it hadn't truly rained since before she'd left the cottage. If it didn't rain soon, all of the greenery would begin to wilt and turn to brown as it dried out. She made a mental note to ask Lathander for a little rain, the next time she prayed to him.

As the road dipped down once again, a valley opened up ahead, and Esme stopped her horse to look down into it. Nestled between the mountains and the river, the latter of which cut it in two, was a huge, sprawling, roughly circular city. Even from this distance, she could see gleaming white towers topped by spires, and a very faint outline of an ethereal bridge which spanned the river, joining the two sides of the cities. It was too far for her to see people or hear music, but she could tell just by looking at it that tens of thousands of people could live here comfortably. It was a hundred or more times bigger than the temple complex of Lathander. The sheer size of it made her head swim. To the side of the city, stretching out over the flood-plain, was a dense woodland, interrupted only by the passing of small streams which flowed into the larger River Rauvin.

"Impressive, isn't it?" said Lucas as he passed her.

"Very," she whispered, and spurred her horse on to keep up with the lead caravan.

The city grew closer and closer, and the walls around it grew higher and higher, until Esme found herself stood at the base of them, looking up, and wondering who would be foolish enough to try attacking this place. When the caravan driver had finished speaking to the guard on the gate, he clicked his tongue and sent his team forward.

"I'll go and settle up with the man," said Lucas, halting his horse beside everyone else. "Why don't the rest of you get us lodgings and start settling in, and I'll meet you shortly?"

"Do not start buying things," Daeghun warned. "Or do I have to come with you, to keep you out of trouble?"

"Trouble? Me? You must be mistaken, my friend," Lucas chuckled. "I'll be back shortly."

"Where are we staying?" Esme asked when Lucas and the caravans were out of sight.

"At the Treant's Hall," said Shayla. "It's where we always stay in Silverymoon, though sometimes Belvar goes off to spend most of his days at Rockhaven, and Lucas often spends days at a time in Four Corner Square."

"Four Corner Square?" she mused. "I didn't think it possible to have a square with anything but four corners."

"The inhabitants of Silverymoon have a... quirky... sense of humour," said Daeghun.

"Let's be off, we're wasting daylight," said Belvar setting off into the crowd. Esme quickly dismounted and kept close to Kiree and Shayla as everybody else followed, though Duncan remained mounted and look around as they passed through the city.

Kiree and Lucas had not been lying when they'd described the festivals. They'd barely gone a hundred yards into the city before the sound of music and merry-making began drifting through the air to Esme's ears. She smelt cooking food and the sweet tang of wine, and heard over a dozen songs coming from as many different directions. Before much longer, a group of people passed by wearing bright, colourful clothes of all shades and hues, a rainbow of humanity. Some were even more scantily clad than Shayla, and Esme wondered if she'd ever dare show that much flesh.

She stopped briefly to watch a street performer play the flute whilst a pair of acrobats danced and rolled and soared to his tune. Further down the gleaming white street, a second musician had drawn a larger cloud, and she watched as the elven man played a foreign-sounding pipe. On the ground in front of him, a long, thin snake with a hooded head danced and swayed to the music, seemingly hypnotised by it, and the crowd, who were keeping well back from the snake, cheered in appreciation.

Several bare-chested men ran through the streets carrying trays of food, offering morsels to everyone they passed. When one of the men stopped by Esme, she took one of the small fruits from the plate and offered her thanks before popping it into her mouth. She had no idea what it was, but it tasted divine. When she realised she was falling behind her friends, she clicked her tongue and hurried Blaze on to catch up, keeping sight of the back of Duncan's horse as she forced a path threw the joyous crowds. She noticed as she walked that Belvar seemed to be leading them even deeper into the city, where the festival was really in full swing. Along one street alone she saw men who swallowed fire, beautiful veiled women who danced by swaying their bodies seductively, a gnome who performed magic tricks for children, singers, dancers, puppeteers, actors and a man who played a stringed instrument while a small dog danced on its hind legs to the tune. If a single street held so much entertainment, how many more wonders would the rest of the city hold?

When Belvar stopped outside a large building, two men appeared from a quiet stable-yard and asked both she and Duncan for their names, the names of their mounts, and took descriptions of the tack on both horses. Then they led the animals off to the stables, and Belvar opened the door of the building. From inside, Esme heard music, but it was quiet and muted compared to what was going on in the streets, and it was with some relief that she realised most of the festival would be taking place outdoors.

The room that the dwarf led them into was light and airy, even in the failing sunlight. Candles were nestled in huge candelabra suspended from the ceiling, and fat, flowery smelling candles sat in sconces on the walls. The room had several patrons in it; in one corner sat a group of elves - wood elves, she thought, because they more closely resembled Daeghun than Shayla - and a pair of humans clad in brown leathers and green cloaks were seated by the side of one fireplace. Three halflings and a gnome were chatting excitedly on the far side of the room, and a musician playing a reed pipe was seated upon a small stage.

When the bartender saw their group enter, he turned and gave them a small bow.

"Welcome back to the Treant's Hall, master dwarf. It is always a pleasure to see a stone-brother here. And welcome be upon you also, lord and lady of the forests," he said to Daeghun and Shayla. "Blessings of Yondalla be upon you, fair lady," he said to Kiree, before turning to Duncan. "And greetings to you, noble adventurer." Then he turned to Esmerelle, and ran his eyes over her appreciatively. "Well, Lucas, you've certainly changed since last you were here, and I think I approve of the changes!"

She felt herself blush at the compliment. As far as bartenders went, this one was _nothing_ like Harrol. He was fairly young, with long, dark brown hair and laughing brown eyes. The way he was looking at her would have had the priests of Lathander in _fits_... but suddenly she found that she didn't mind.

"Lucas is settling a debt, Elim," said Shayla coolly. "This is Esmerelle, who is our friend. She's thinking about settling here in Silverymoon, and we are showing her around."

"Well then, Esmerelle. As a citizen of the fairest city in the north, I would like to welcome you to our home. And if there is anything I can do to facilitate your stay here, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thanks," said Duncan, "but I think she's got more than enough people to help her by now."

"Come on," said Kiree, taking Esme by one hand and dragging Belvar along by his shirt-sleeve. The halfling woman was surprisingly strong, for her size. "Let's go and get a seat whilst Shayla gets us drinks and Daeghun stops Duncan from saying something he'll regret."

"It was a pleasure to meet you," she called back to Elim as Kiree pulled her out of sight. "Shayla doesn't seem to like him much," she observed.

"Elven prejudice," Belvar shrugged. "You heard Lucas' story about the Crown Wars."

"Elim's great great great great grandmother was drow," Kiree explained. "She was banished from the Underdark for whatever reason, came to the surface and took a human for a mate. An uthgardt, or so it's said. Can't really imagine any civilised person wanting to jump into bed with a drow. Anyway, all of his ancestors since then have been human, which technically makes Elim human too, but that doesn't stop Shayla from disliking him. He doesn't even look anything _like_ a drow."

"What does a drow look like?"

"They're a bit shorter than most elves, with very dark skin, sometimes black, and their hair is white or silver or pale gold. Trust me, if you saw a drow, you'd recognise him right away. Over here," said the halfling, finally releasing both of them and gesturing to a large table with plenty of empty seats around it.

"What kind of place is this?" she asked, looking around at the mostly quiet patrons. Belvar said something in dwarfish, and she wasn't _entirely_ convinced that it wasn't a swear.

"It's big with druids and rangers," said Kiree. "And elves, too. We almost always stay here in Silverymoon. For all that Shayla complains that other elves look at her askance, and that some of the staff have drow ancestry, she won't stay anywhere else. Oh, by the way, we're _so_ going to go out shopping tomorrow morning. It's festival season, we're going to need new clothes and shoes and scarves-"

"If you ask me," said Belvar, "the only good thing about festival season is the fact that it means the libraries are almost empty."

"Oh, come off it. Don't pretend you don't enjoy a good festival as much as most of the rest of us. And I've noticed that within a few days, you've always found some comely dwarven woman to cuddle up with, nice and-"

"Hey, that's enough of your tongue," he growled. "There's nothing wrong with a bit of cuddling. At least I don't drag half the undersized population back to my room during Midsummer Faire."

"You say that like it's supposed to shame me," Kiree grinned.

"Easier to shame a flaming orc."

"Here we go," said Duncan, appearing from around the corner with two large glasses in his hands. He put one on the table in front of Belvar, and kept another for himself. Daeghun appeared after him carrying two glasses of mead and one glass of wine, and Shayla followed with two more glasses of wine. She kept one for herself and gave one to Esme, whilst the third went to Kiree, and one of the glasses of mead was placed beside an empty seat for Lucas.

"Esmerelle," said Shayla as she lowered herself daintily into one of the chairs. "Elim is a smooth-talking rogue who chats up any woman he sees regardless of who they are. You must not let him charm you with sweet words, for you can rest assured that at least half the women in Silverymoon have heard them from his lips before."

"You exaggerate," said Kiree. "He's awfully handsome, though. I sure wish humans and halflings were more compatible."

"More compatible?" she asked, wondering if she even wanted to know.

"Yeah, y'know, physically speaking. Unless you get a tall halfling and a short human, the dynamics of it are just _really_ difficult. Trust me, I know; I've tried."

"If Elim gives you any hassle, just let me know," said Duncan, ignoring Kiree.

Suddenly, the door of the inn blew open and Lucas came dashing in, stopping only long enough to spy their group. He dropped down into his chair panting like he'd run a mile, and took a long sip of his mead.

"Excellent news!" he said once his thirst was quenched. "Volothamp Geddarm's performing tomorrow night at Four Corner Square. Esmerelle, you _have_ to come and see him, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"Who is Volothamp Geddarm?" she asked confused.

"One of the realm's greatest travellers, collectors of lore and history, and performers. He doesn't really play many instruments, but he sings and recites poetry and tells stories of far-away places from his travels."

"The perfect excuse for shopping tomorrow!" said Kiree.

"Alright, I'd love to see Volothamp Geddarm," she said with a smile.

"Excellent," said Lucas, thoroughly pleased with himself. "And the night after that, I'll show you a dozen more places that shouldn't be missed. You'll come to love living here."

o - o - o - o - o

Esme woke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through the window on the opposite side of the room to her bed. She'd forgotten to close the curtains last night, but she didn't mind. There was nothing she liked more than feeling the morning rays of Lathander's light on her skin, and now she had a room of her own, she could leave the curtains open all she liked. She didn't know why Kiree had her own room here but not in Everlund, but she was grateful to Shayla for arranging it so. Not that she didn't mind sharing with Kiree, but if the halfing really _was_ going to be bringing men back every night, she'd rather not be privy to it. She really didn't know where Lathander stood on the whole situation, and as such, she was reluctant to form her own judgement.

She threw off her covers and rolled out of bed, kneeling on the floor in front of the bedside cabinet on which sat her old and somewhat battered prayerbook. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands in front of her, ignoring the grain of the wooden floorboards pressing against her bare knees. "Lord of the morning," she said aloud. "Thank you for helping me to get this far. I don't know if you sent Shayla and Lucas and the others to me, but if so, I am grateful to you. Please continue to give me strength, and illuminate me when times are darkest."

When her prayer was finished, she dressed in her new red and orange dress and dark red shoes, because it seemed like she would fit in more with the festivities than wearing her travelling garb. Deciding that she had to start becoming a little more forthright if she expected to live in the city alone, she decided not to wait for somebody to come along and wake her, but instead left her room and descended the nearest stairs. She ended up in a room much like the one she had shared drinks with her friends in the night before. Had it not been for the differences in colour and pattern of decor, she would have sworn it was exactly the same room. Her curiosity piqued, she wandered through the room, ignoring the curious glances of the few patrons in their subdued colours of green and brown, looking for the table she had her friends had been sitting at. She found it, but again, there were differences. Last night, the backs of the chairs had been carved with images of ivy. Now, the chairs showed carved leaves of clematis.

On a whim, she went to what she thought was the external door, opened it, and stepped out into the sunshine. It was not the white, marble street of Silverymoon that greeted her, but a grassy, wooded area. Several small oak trees stood majestically around the clearing, interspersed by smaller beech and willow trees. The tinkling of falling water turned out to be a marble fountain depicting what she imagined was a nymph holding a vase of perpetually flowing water. In the centre of the clearing, a huge oak tree stood, easily the largest tree she had ever seen. Had four of her been present, linking their hands together around the trunk, they still would have not been able to reach each other. Now, she was thoroughly confused. Last night she had gone to bed, leaving from one room, and the next morning she had come down the stairs to find the room similar but different, and instead of Silverymoon, it was this garden waiting for her.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said a voice from behind. She turned and saw Elim walking towards her, his hands in his pockets.

"Yes," she smiled. The place reminded her somewhat of home. Or the High Forest, at least. "But where exactly am I?"

"You're in the centre of Treant's Hall. Nobody explained it to you?" he asked at her confused expression. "Come this way, have a seat on this bench, and I will tell you all about it." She followed him to a marble bench she hadn't noticed before and sat down. He withdrew his hands from his pocket and revealed a red rose in his right hand. "Ah, this must be for you. Can't imagine how it got there."

"Thank you," she said, fighting down a smile as she took it. She'd only been in Silverymoon for twelve hours, and she'd already been given her first flower. "Are you sure no other eligible young ladies will miss this?" she asked, twirling the rose in her fingers. He laughed, his dark eyes twinkling with humour.

"Perhaps they will, but they should learn to rise sooner. As for where you are... Treant's Hall is an inn, and it is also many inns. Five buildings make up our fine establishment, and they are arranged in the form of a pentacle, around this central courtyard. All of the buildings are interconnected upstairs and down, and all lead out into the garden. The smaller oaks you see around you are chime oaks, from the great forest of Cormanthor. In winter, their bark looks like glass or ice, and their leaves never drop. They turn hard, and when the wind blows, you can hear them chime against each other. The largest oak, in the centre of the garden, has been here since the days when Silverymoon was young. When bards think they can get away with it, they'll try to tell you that it's a slumbering treant. Don't let them fool you; it is nothing but a tree."

"Is it true that your great great great grandmother was a drow?" she asked. She knew it probably wasn't a polite conversation topic, but she was curious, and couldn't think of another way to bring the subject up.

"So my mother and her mother claimed," he said with a shrug.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"No. Why should it? I'm not my mother, or my father, or my great great great great grandmother. Whatever she was, I am me. Why should I let the past of a relative define who I am?"

"That's a very wise perspective," she said solemnly, thinking of her own less than benevolent heritage. "My friends say I should be wary around you, that you have a honeyed tongue around young women."

"I wish I had friends such as yours, to warn me against becoming enamoured of every beautiful young woman who enters the Treant's Hall," he chuckled. "Speaking of which, several of your friends are already awake and enjoying breakfast. Would you like me to take you to them? They're in a different room today, and this place can be confusing for folks not used to it."

"Thank you, I would appreciate that."

He stood and offered her his arm, which she took, and led her across the garden, to a door that she could never have seen from where she was stood, because several chime oak trunks obscured her view of it. When he opened the door for her, she was relieved to find a common room much like the one she'd stepped out of, only the colour of this one was blue instead of red, and the one they had entered by the day before had been green. On the far side of the room, she saw Shayla, Daeghun and Lucas breaking fast, and Elim insisted on escorting her right up to the table before leaving her with a grin.

"Did you pick that from the garden?" Shayla asked, eyeing the rose in her hand suspiciously.

"No, Elim gave it to me."

"Good man," said Lucas with a nod. "You could do a lot worse."

"Lucas!" Shayla hissed. "We're trying to encourage Esmerelle to show a little more tact and decorum than Kiree."

"Decorum is all well and good when you have several hundred years to practice it, but as many of your eladrin kin are so fond of pointing out, we humans are here and gone in the blink of an eye. Esmerelle should live her life as she sees fit, and if she chooses to associate with rogues and scoundrels... well, maybe she'll make an honest man out of one of them."

"Very well," Shayla sighed. "Esmerelle, bed the man if you must, but please don't go throwing your heart at him, because I can assure you, he doesn't deserve it, nor would he treat it right."

"I have no intentions of bedding anybody!" she said in a defensive whisper. "I'll find a place somewhere between glaring icily at all men I meet, and jumping into bed with them at the first offer, if you don't mind."

"If you do by chance end up with a broken heart," Lucas added, "don't go to Duncan about it. He's got a hot head. Come to Belvar and I."

She folded her arms over her chest and sighed, leaning back in the chair. When a serving girl - or in this case, serving _man_ - came to ask her what she wanted for breakfast, she ordered whatever Lucas was having, since it _looked_ like toasted bread and omelet, and waited in silence for her food to arrive. It seemed even away from her father, and Aggie, she was destined to spend her life around people who insisted on trying to teach her. It wasn't that she minded the teaching, or even the protectiveness, but what they said _contradicted_ each other, and she wasn't entirely sure who to listen to. Kiree would have her throwing caution to the wind and living life to the fullest. Lucas would have her enjoying herself, but always keeping watch for the hidden blade. Shayla would simply have her glare at every man who approached her until he went away. She realised she was just going to have to work it all out for herself... maybe with a little guidance from Lathander.

"Where are the others?" she asked, when she'd taken the first bite out of her food.

"Sleeping in," said Daeghun. "Like all dwarves, Belvar prefers night to day, or at least spending days underground in darkness, when he can. Kiree and Duncan stayed up late drinking last night. They were still going when the rest of us retired to bed."

She cast her mind back to the night, and recalled the three halflings who'd been in the common room at the same time, and wondered if Kiree had gotten 'friendly' with one of them. Then she decided it was probably best not to know. By the time she'd finished her breakfast, Duncan had appeared from the stairs, looking in desperate need of a shave, and Kiree was just coming downstairs wearing her creased trousers and shirt, which had probably been slept in, and sporting dark circles under her eyes.

"I am so ill," she said, slumping into a chair and resting her arms on the table.

"Would you like a potion?" Esme offered.

"You can cure hang-overs?"

"I can cure nausea and headache, for a time, but the effects of the potion will wear off eventually. I've only heard hang-overs described, I've never had one myself. What do they feel like?"

"Like a thousand dwarves are pounding on your skull with their hammers, and like you need to throw up everything you ever ate."

"Then I have something that can take the edge off it. Wait here for a moment."

She hurried up the stairs and along the corridor, searching for her room number. When she realised she was out by more than 20, she passed down another corridor leading away, realised she was going the wrong way, then found yet _another_ corridor that finally led to her room. She opened the door and dragged her backpack out from under her bed, rooting through it for the potions she'd brought with her from the cottage. She finally found the one she was looking for, and made her way back to the common room. Getting back, now that she knew the way, was easier, but she still got lost once and had to turn around.

"Here you go," she said, putting the potion on the table. Kiree grabbed it, pulled the stopper out, and swigged the entire contents in three large gulps. The she burped rather inelegantly, and the colour began to return to her cheeks, the dark tired circles fading slightly.

"Much better," she smiled. "A thousand thank-yous. See, Shayla? That's what friends do for each other. How come _you_ never offer to heal me when I'm sick?"

"If you were truly sick, I wouldn't hesitate," the elf replied. "Your 'sickness' is a result of excess, because you lack the will-power to refrain from over-indulging. As such, your hang-over should serve as a lesson to deter you from drinking too much in future."

"In theory, that sounds good, but it never _does_ deter me."

"Then perhaps next time you'll simply give yourself alcohol poisoning and die in your sleep."

"It's good that you're getting in the festival mood," said Kiree, sticking out her tongue. "Esme, are you ready to go shopping? You don't mind me calling you Esme, do you?"

"Not at all. It's what my father... the priest who raised me... and my best friend called me. And it _is_ less of a mouthful than Esmerelle."

"Should I come with you?" Duncan asked. "For protection?"

"That's a wonderful idea, Duncan," Kiree grinned. "You can help us pick out new shoes, and carry our bags of shopping for us when they get too heavy for us less virile females, and-"

"Actually, I just remembered I've promised Belvar to help him sort through some of his scrolls today," said Duncan quickly.

"You girls have fun," said Lucas. "And be back here before dinner time so you can eat before we go to watch Volo."

o - o - o - o - o

Seated at a table outside a small bakery shop, Esme watched the nearest street performers. One of them was the snake-charmer who had been on the main road into the city, but this time, his snake was an entirely different colour. It dazzled purple and gold in the bright sunlight. Whether it was a different snake, or simply the same snake reacting to different intensities of sunlight, she couldn't guess.

As promised, many merchants were trading today, and parcels containing the pair's purchases were currently sitting in multiple bags beneath the table. Esme had no idea where she was going to put all of her new dresses. Room space in the Treant's Hall was at a premium, and she didn't have anywhere else of her own to stay yet. In fact, she now had so many dresses that she doubted if she'd ever be able to wear them all. Always, in the past, she sufficed with one or two acolyte robes and her casual wear, or when she was living with Aggie, a plain dress and a couple of pairs of rough trousers and shirts. Still, she had to admit, some of the dresses _were_ extremely nice. And the one she'd acquired in Everlund was lovely. It was just the right colours, almost shade for shade like the acolyte robes she'd once worn. And even though she'd been effectively excommunicated from the church of Lathander, the red dress made her feel like she once again had the right to worship and be counted among the faithful.

"The thing about men," said Kiree, taking a large bite of the pastry she'd ordered. "Is that you have to know how to deal with them. You've already got Lucas wrapped around your little finger, so you've no worries there. If Duncan starts bothering you or getting too helpful, just say something to make him cringe, or put him in an awkward position. Belvar's happy if you talk to him about history and stuff. Don't even bother with Daeghun, because he only listens to Shayla, and most of the time you'll get more from a golem than you do from that man."

"What does Shayla see in Daeghun?" she mused aloud. "Not that I don't like him. He's been nice and friendly so far, and helpful, too. But he always seems so serious and stoic, like he's never having any fun. Are all wild elves like that?"

"I don't know, I've never met any, other than Shayla. But then again, Sune is a fickle mistress. Some say she can foster love in the most unlikely of places. I just don't bother questioning 'why' anymore. I don't usually understand the answer anyway."

"Do you really think Elim is a rogue?"

"Sure, but he's a handsome rogue, and at least he's honest about it and will back off if you make it obvious you're not interested. He'd lose his job if he was pushy with customers. You should flirt back with him... might make Shayla's head explode," said Kiree wickedly.

"I think I'd like to speak with a priest of Lathander first."

"Why? You have to have your god's permission before getting to know a guy?"

She shrugged. It was hard to explain, and Kiree probably wouldn't understand, that for almost all of her young life, she'd been taught to live her life according to the precepts of Lathander, and to behave in a way that was fitting to the faith. Because Eldon had become her surrogate father, faith in Lathander had become a sort of surrogate mother to her, providing her with something that she could not get from her parents, but that every child needs; guidance and boundaries.

"Alright, we'll go and find a priest. I'm sure there'll be one near the temples," said Kiree.

After they'd finished their lunch, they picked up their bags and made their way slowly towards the palace district. When they reached the moonbridge, Esme stepped cautiously onto it, despite the people around her who walked it without a second thought. The whole thing was made of magic, and looked insubstantial, like she might fall through it at any moment. It took her a few minutes to work up the courage to step out onto the part of the bridge that spanned the wide river, and was she was on it, she hurried across, with Kiree chuckling behind her.

The palace district was quieter than the old city, and even more elegant and sprawling, but the buildings had a very arranged feeling to them, whereas the old city felt like it had grown organically over time, without being planned. Still, the palace district wasn't unpleasant. The musicians here were more restrained, singing ballads rather than ditties, no doubt to reflect the more refined taste of the nobility. Men and women, resplendent in their finery, walked the streets, greeting each other and offering platitudes about the weather or the state of the festivities.

The temples themselves were tall and particularly find buildings, topped with spires and domes, decorated with marble statues and colonnades. Chanting could be heard from some, and singing from others, and scores of people entered and left through the wide, open doors. It was not to one of the temples that Kiree led her, but to an area behind them, consisting of small shrines within a grassy garden area. There, dozens of shrines were being tended by as many priests, and the faithful of countless religions lined up, waiting patiently to speak to clerics of their faith.

"I've never seen so many places of worship," said Esme.

"Oh, sure," said Kiree, stretching her arms above her head. "In Silverymoon you'll find temples and shrines dedicated to human gods, elven gods, halfling gods, dwarven gods, gnomish gods... they even have one for Malar. Only the church of Cyric is outlawed here, for obvious reasons. The shrine you want is over there." She pointed to a distant stone altar being tended by red-clad men, with a small line of worshippers waiting before it. "I'll wait for you in the shade of that large tree over there."

Esme watched the halfling take a seat beneath a large sycamore tree, then made her way to the shrine of Lathander and joined the back of the queue of worshippers. Some of the people before her stopped to talk to the priests, whilst others simply knelt down in front of the altar and prayed. It wasn't long before she was at the front of the queue, and found herself looking into the expectant, bearded face of a priest.

"How can the faithful of the Morninglord help you today, my child?" he asked.

"I was hoping to gain a little guidance. I had a question about the Morninglord that I was hoping somebody here could answer."

"Very well," he said, leading her a short distance away from. "Ask your question, and I will answer if I can."

"I was just wondering... what does Lathander think about the relationships that his faithful carry out with each other? More specifically, casual relationships that might not necessarily involve love between two people."

"Ah, you find yourself tempted by what the festival has to offer?" he said with a knowing smile. "Your question is both simple and complex, easily answered, and not. Lathander is sometimes known as a god of extremes. He has great love for his children, and holds great hatred for undead abominations. He wishes to promote creation, specifically creation of life, art and opportunities. He does not make and enforce rules rigidly, as does Helm, nor is he as hedonistic as Sune. We, his faithful, enjoy the best of both worlds. In Lathander's eyes, intimate relationships between two people are a cause for celebration, because new life, in the form of a child, can be created. He would not, however, approve of any such actions that involve unwilling participants, and such behaviour amongst his faithful would anger him. In short, as long as your intentions are honourable and you do not bring dishonour upon yourself and him through your actions, he doesn't mind what you do. Does that answer help you, child?"

"I think so. Yes, yes it does. Thank you." In a way, it did help. But she'd also been hoping for a 'yes or no' answer. So far, she didn't seem to do to well when decisions were left to her own whims.

"The Morninglord's blessing be upon you, child," he said.

"And to you, Dawnbringer," she replied with a small bow. As the priest strolled back to the queue, Esme returned to Kiree, sitting down on the bare grass beside the halfling.

"So, did you find your answer?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Good," Kiree smiled. "Do you think now we can get on with enjoying the festival without worrying what Lathander thinks about it?"

"Sure. Why don't we head back to the Treant's Hall and get something to eat? I'm sure Lucas will want to be early for Volothamp Geddarm."

* * *

A/N: I don't speak for Lathander, I just interpret his will as I see it.


	14. With Both Feet

Chapter 14.

With Both Feet

"_Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living!"_ - Amanda Bradley

o - o - o - o - o

They returned to Treant's Hall as the sun was halfway to the horizon, thoroughly tired from carrying their bags around the city. Esme was even beginning to regret Kiree sending Duncan running for the hills; an extra pair of hands would have been most welcome. Inside the cool interior of the Hall, they found only Lucas. He was seated upon a small stage, as the minstrel of the night before had been, and he played a quiet song on his flute. A few of the patrons watched and listened politely, whilst others were engaged in conversation. Kiree led her to a table not far away from the stage, and they dumped their bags unceremoniously on top of it, gesturing for the bartender - this time a graceful blonde-haired elven woman - to fetch them cool drinks. When Lucas finished his song, he opened his eyes and, spying them, jumped down from the stage and joined them at the table with a drink of his own.

"How fared the shops during your assault?" he asked with a wink for Esme.

"We are the merchants' best friends, I'll have you know," said Kiree. "But my feet ache something awful. At least the headache and the nausea have disappeared completely."

"Where is everyone else?" Esme asked.

"Belvar went to spend the day at Rockhaven with some of his dwarven friends. Shayla and Daeghun went to walk in Mielikki's Glade, to reverie in what Shayla calls 'comparative peace and quiet'. In truth, she doesn't mind the noise; wild elves are fond of music and dancing and poetry, moreso than the rest of their kin, but I think she wanted to give Ashara some time to run amongst the trees. As for Duncan... he's gone to wherever the ale is coldest and the women are least dressed, I should imagine. Last year we found him semi-conscious in a fountain. The fool's lucky he didn't drown himself."

"I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night," Kiree said, suppressing a yawn.

"If you're tired, you could stay behind tonight."

"And miss Volothamp Geddarm? No chance. Besides, a nice evening in the fresh air in Four Corner Square is just what I need, and I'm not letting my new clothes go to waste."

"Should we dine now, then?"

"Let Esme and I unpack all our things, first."

Lucas nodded, and returned to the stage whilst they finished their drinks. Then, feeling a little more refreshed, they picked up their bags and hauled them upstairs, retreating to their rooms, which turned out to be opposite each other. Esme was glad Kiree wasn't far away. If felt reassuring, to know that a friend was just across the hallway.

Inside her room, she did her best to neatly store her new clothes, but she simply lacked enough wardrobe space for all of them, and they ended up being folded in the chest of drawers instead. Her three new pairs of shoes went under her bed, and her new, long coat she hung over the peg on the back of her door. When she opened the door, she found Kiree standing there, her hand raised ready to knock.

"I was thinking," the tiny woman said. "Tomorrow, we should go to the baths. You and I and Shayla. Spend the morning soaking in there, it'll be great."

"Sure," she said with a shrug. She hadn't had a proper bath since Everlund, and that had been on the cooler side of luke-warm. It would be nice to submerse herself in water again.

Downstairs, they found Lucas waiting for them, and ordered their evening meal. They talked as they ate about all the things they'd seen so far on the streets, and everything that was yet to be seen, including the famed Midsummer Riverfest, which wouldn't happen for another couple of weeks. It was something Esme was particularly looking forward to, because during the festival, wizards and sorcerers would use magic to create wonderful illusions, and cause the waters of the river to fountain upward in a myriad of colours, whilst musicians would play to the crowds from atop the moonbridge itself. It was, Lucas assured her, easily the most impressive of the festivities.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, they all retreated to their rooms to change. Esme carefully removed her red dress, and chose one of green cotton and yellow silk, picking matching dark green shoes to go with it. She gave her hair a quick-comb through with her fingers, working the tangles and snarls out until her loose curls fell naturally and smoothly once more. Then she took her new green and white coat from the back of the door and descended into the common room again. Lucas was seated at a table, wearing his own blue and green finery, but of Kiree there was no sign.

"Has anybody here lost a deva?" a voice called from behind the bar. "Because I think I see her now, descending from the heavens." Elim stepped out in front of the staircase to offer her his arm.

"I didn't know you were working tonight, Elim," she said, fighting back the smile that tried to take over the bottom half of her face.

"It is my fate in life to work evenings, but fear not, I get the last two days of every ten-day off, so should you wish to suffer my company, it's all yours."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said as she took a seat at the table beside Lucas.

"You're not as fast as Shayla," said Lucas once Elim had retreated to the bar to serve customers, "but you're a damned sight faster than Kiree."

"Faster?" she asked confused, her mind still on Elim.

"At dressing," he elaborated. "She won't be ready for a while yet."

"What takes her so long?"

"Her clothes. Her shoes. Her hair."

"Do you think I should have done something with my hair?"

"No, your hair is lovely as it is. Some ladies, particularly nobles, like to arrange their hair in elaborate, fancy styles. Some of them are piled so ridiculously high that if they move their head, they risk it all falling down. It's always amusing to watch them, because after a few hours of keeping their heads still, they end up all stiff-necked and stressed. I much prefer the natural look, but don't tell Kiree that."

"I won't," she said, giggling at the mental image of women with wobbling piles of hair on the tops of their heads.

They did indeed have to wait some time for the halfling to descend, during which Lucas grew more and more impatient, huffing through his long moustache and eventually pacing the floor, casting occasional glimpses out of the window to look at the position of the setting sun. When she finally made her appearance, dressed in a beautiful yellow dress and with her hair arranged in delicate chignons, Lucas all but dragged them both out of the Hall with barely a word about how lovely she looked.

Once they were outside, he left them slow down to a casual stroll so they could watch the street performances as they passed, but he was clearly impatient, and sometimes hurried off up the road, forcing himself to stop and wait for them to catch up. When Esme asked why he was being so on edge, he simply said that if they didn't get there early, they might not get good seats, and left it at that.

"That's not the whole reason," Kiree whispered when he'd moved out of earshot. "It's considered bad form to enter during the middle of a bard or musician's performance, and one bard interrupting another... a huge faux pas."

"Maybe we should hurry up, then."

"Yeah, I suppose so. Come on, let's give him a race."

Kiree gathered up her skirts and began a faster walk than Esme would have thought her capable off. In just a few seconds she'd passed Lucas, who watched her with a confused expression on his face.

"Come on," Esme said as she caught up to him. "We're going to be late."

"_Now_ they want to hurry!" he sighed to the sky.

Esme hadn't known what to expect at Four Corner Square, so it was a bit of a surprise to her when they arrived at an area almost fully enclosed by buildings and trees. Set slightly above the white limestone courtyard, were four wooden stages, far away enough from each other to ensure they had their own seating areas and audiences, but close enough together to make it obvious they were all a part of the same area. Some of the seats were on ground level whilst others were raised up on long limestone verandas, and it was to one of these raised areas that Lucas led them. All of the seats in the Square had been turned to face a single stage; it wasn't uncommon, Lucas said, for a single performer to take the stage alone, especially if he was renowned. When multiple stages were in use, the atmosphere was much less formal.

Men wound their way through the clusters of tables and chairs with trays of drinks, offering them to the audience, and Esme took one, discovering that it was a lightly alcoholic fruit cocktail, sweet and blessedly cold. Women followed the men, depositing small bowls of dried fruits and nuts on each table. Peering into their bowl, she saw raisins, dates, figs, hazelnuts, almonds and walnuts. As Kiree took a handful of dried fruit, Esme took a better look around Four Corner Square. It was lit entirely by burning oil fires, which not only illuminated the area, but the smoke also kept the worst of the insects away. Most of the tables and chairs were full, and still more people were entering the Square. It seemed that word had spread fast about tonight's entertainer.

When a gnome appeared on the stage from behind a curtain that looked as if it had been newly installed, a small cheer erupted from the crowd. Esme leant forward in anticipation. She hadn't realised Volothamp Geddarm was a gnome, but now that she thought about it, the name _did_ have a certain gnomish ring to it.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Four Corner Square," said the gnome, bowing to the crowd. "I won't keep you waiting, I know some of you have been waiting here for hours."

"I wish," Lucas grumbled under his breath.

"So without further ado, I pass the stage over to renowned traveller and taller of tales, Volothamp Geddarm!"

When a tall, well-dressed human walked onto the stage carrying a lyre, Esme felt her cheeks heat up. Thank the gods she hadn't embarrassed herself by referring to the gnome as Volothamp in front of Lucas and Kiree! No doubt they would have been laughing for days at her ignorance. The crowd cheered again, applauding wildly, even though he'd done nothing but walk

"Greetings, fair ladies and gentlemen of Silverymoon. It gladdens my heart to be back here in what is without a doubt my favourite city." His words drew another drawn-out cheer from the crowd. "Yes, yes, it's true, there is no finer city that Silverymoon... not that I've seen, anyway! And what I've not seen isn't worth seeing."

Some of the audience chuckled at his words, but Esme wondered how honest Volothamp was being. He didn't look at old, nowhere near as old as Lucas. How could he have seen more in his shorter lifetime? But the audience seemed to like him, at least.

"First of all, I would like to regale you all with a tale I heard a couple of years ago whilst travelling around the Dragon Coast." He plucked the strings of his lyre, setting a jaunty tune. When he finally began to sing, his voice was pleasant, but not as nice as Lucas'. With a few sung words, Lucas could evoke feelings of joy or sadness strong enough to bring tears to the eye. He could put you in a whole other word, conjuring imagines in your mind of leafy forests or resplendent cities. Volothamp could not do that, but he wasn't bad.

_"Sir Eglamore was a valiant knight,_

_Fa-la lanky-down dilly,_

_ He took up his sword and he went to fight,_

_ Fa-la-lanky down dilly,_

_ As he rode o'er hill and dale_

_ All amoured in his coat of mail,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly._

_ "Out came a dragon from her den,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ That killed god knows how many men,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ When she saw Sir Eglamore_

_ You should have heard that dragon roar,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly._

_ "Oh then the trees began to shake,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ And horse did tremble and man did quake,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ The birds betook them all to peep_

_ It would have made a grown man weep,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly._

_ "But all in vain it was to fear,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ For now they fall to fight like bears,_

_ Fa-lanky down dilly,_

_ To it they go and soundly fight_

_ The live-long day from morn to night,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly._

_ "This dragon had a plaguey hide,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ Which could the sharpest steel abide,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ No sword could enter through her skin_

_ Which vexed the knight and made her grin,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly._

_ "As in choler she did burn,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ He fetched the dragon a great good turn,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ As a-yawning she did fall_

_ He thrust his sword up hilt and all,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly._

_ "Then like a coward she did fly,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ To her den which was hard by,_

_ Fa-la lanky down dilly,_

_ There she lay all night and roared,_

_ The knight was sorry for his sword,_

_ Fa-la-la-fa-na da-da-da-fa-na lanky down dilly."_

This time, when the audience cheered and applauded, Esme joined in. She loved songs that told a tale, and good folks conquering evil were the best sort of tales to hear, at least in her opinion. Volo sang another song and then told a story about his travels in the Icewind Dale, then took a break as the men and women bearing food and drinks came around the tables again to offer refreshments.

"I'm not sure how accurate some of his stories are," Esme said to Kiree and Lucas when the noise level increased during the interlude, "but he tells them well."

"Most of them are probably somewhat exaggerated," Lucas agreed.

"It's too bad he's not a few years younger and a few hands shorter," said Kiree with a wicked grin.

"Too bad the others didn't want to come along," said Esme.

"Volo is not everybody's cup of team," said Lucas with a shrug. "Their loss is our gain."

When the bard returned to the stage, the conversations in the audience quickly quieted down, and an expectant hush settled over the people. Volo started up again with a couple more stories, interspersed with some songs, then finished with Wind By The Fireside, encouraging everybody in the audience to stand up and join in. Esme was grateful that he played something she was familiar with; Aggie was fond of the song, and had sung it many times, teaching the words to Esme.

When he finally finished and left, after many rounds of applause, some people began to leave the Square, whilst others sat at their tables, relaxing and discussing the finer points of the performance. Esme, Lucas and Kiree finished their drinks, and ambled out of the square.

"So, where to next?" Lucas pondered.

"You want to go somewhere _else_?" Esme asked, stifling a yawn.

"The night is young, my friends. To go home now would be an opportunity missed."

"I suppose we could wander the Hunter's District," Kiree shrugged. "They always have a good assortment of festivities there."

In the end, they went to the Hunter's District, then over the moonbridge to check on the celebrations in the New City, and then finally back to the Hunter's District. Dawn was close when they finally returned to Treant's Hall, full of alcohol and music, and very few patrons were up at this hour. There was no sign of Elim, either, for which Esme was slightly disappointed, but looking back with hindsight, she realised it was probably for the best. She and Kiree helped each other up to their rooms, giggling and tripping every other step, and when Esme reached hers, she all but fell into bed and slept until noon the next day.

o - o - o - o - o

Bright, hot sunlight woke Esme from a dream in which she'd been helping Lucas put on a stage performance in Four Corner Square. She groaned, and tried to bury her head in her pillow, but it was no use. She was too awake and too aware of the light to get back to sleep, and her head was thrumming with the onset on pain. She rolled out of bed - realising too late that she was still wearing her dress, tearing one of her sleeves in the process - and felt around under her bed for her backpack. Her fingers finally closed on it, and she drew it out, searching inside for a potion. When she found the right one, she opened the bottle and took a few small sips, sighing in relief as the magic worked its way through her body.

She got changed into a more casual light blue dress before she could damage her green and yellow one any further, then finally dared to look at herself in the full-length mirror. The result wasn't as bad as she would have thought. Though her hair was dishevelled and her eyes bloodshot, she didn't look as foul as she felt. Though the headache was mostly gone and the nausea was passing, her feet ached from walking so far in thin shoes, and her throat was sore from cheering and - she remembered with some horror - signing along to some of the songs various street performers had been singing. _How embarrassing!_

When she realised she couldn't put off leaving her room any longer, she took the small bottle, knowing that Kiree and Duncan might also have need of its contents, and descended the stairs. There was nobody in the common room, so she went to the next one, and then the next, checking all five in turn. Then she remembered the garden, and opened one of the inner doors, stepping out into the verdant grassy garden. Quite a few people were out and about today; she came across two couples, a group of elves and four gnomes playing some sort of game involving throwing coins, before she finally found faces she recognised. In front of the huge central oak, Shayla was sitting bare-footed and cross-legged, her staff by her side. She looked like she was meditating. Beside her, Duncan was lying on his stomach, reading a book, and Belvar was shuffling through a pile of scrolls.

"Good morning, Esmerelle," said Shayla without opening her eyes. Both Duncan and Belvar looked up and greeted her too.

"Good morning to you all," she replied. "Is everyone else out, or still in bed?"

"They're out," said Duncan. "Dunno where Daeghun is, but Lucas has gone to the bakery to get us some lunch."

"And Kiree has gone to the baths, to reserve us a time slot," Shayla added. "I must say, I'm looking forward to it. The streets are far too dusty."

"I've asked Lathander to make it rain," said Esme, sitting down beside the elf. "Why don't you do it, like you did in the High Forest?"

"I doubt the people of Silverymoon would approve."

"They might approve less of their lands and forests drying out and becoming a serious fire hazard."

"It'll never get that bad, lass," said Belvar confidently. "Alustriel would never allow it."

"Who?"

"Alustriel Silverhand, ruler of Silverymoon and one of the daughters of Mystra."

"It's said that she's fair, wise, and beautiful," Duncan added. "I've heard that any man who sees her falls immediately in love with her."

"Perhaps she simply bewitches them," Shayla suggested.

"Now why would a woman like her need to bewitch men into falling in love with her?"

"For fun?"

"Sounds like you're jealous!"

"Spoken like one who knows nothing."

The impending argument was halted by the arrival of Lucas, bearing fresh pastries and cakes from the bakery. Kiree appeared a few minutes later, and they all sat on the ground, sharing lunch.

"We have an hour before we're due at the baths," Kiree told Esme and Shayla.

"Good," said Shayla. "That gives us plenty of time to get there. I hate being on the last moment. And queues! Don't get me started on queues."

"How long will we have in the baths?" Esme asked.

"Upto an hour," said Kiree. "But we don't have to stay that long if you don't want to."

"Whilst you ladies are relaxing in the baths," said Duncan, "us men will find somewhere nice for us to dine tonight."

"What's wrong with eating here?" asked Esme.

"It's just nice to experience new things and new places."

"New places that don't have Elim in them?" said Kiree, with a snicker.

"Should we perhaps make a start on those baths?" Esmerelle suggested when Duncan scowled at the halfling. "I was hoping first to find a shop that sells herbs, and maybe find somewhere that will let me brew potions."

"I know a place that sells herbs and the like," said Shayla. "As for somewhere to make your potions... I'm not sure. You might have to rent out some space in the University. At some point over the next few days, we'll introduce you to some folks here in the city who will be able to help you get started."

"How long will you all stay here for?"

"Until Midsummer Fair, if I have anything to say about it," said Lucas.

"Daeghun will not be pleased with staying here so long," said Shayla.

"We'll go somewhere cold, miserable and dangerous afterwards. I'm sure that'll make him happy."

"Come on," said Kiree, standing and stretching. "Let's get going. I don't want to stay here and argue about how long we'll be around for."

o - o - o - o - o

When Kiree had told her that they were going to the baths, Esme had thought of baths as she had always known them; shorter than body-sized tubs that were filled with water. What she hadn't been expecting were the large marble pools of warm, relaxing, bubbling water that caressed her skin the instant she followed Shayla into one. She descended the steps, and the water went upto her neck before the floor dropped away. Then, she panicked. She hadn't known how deep the baths would be, and she couldn't swim. That was why she'd been certain that faking her death in the river near Lathander's temple would work.

Shayla reached out, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her firmly towards the edge of the pool, where there was a ledge she could sit on. She took several deep breaths, fighting down her panic.

"Thank you," she said when she finally trusted herself to speak.

"Guess I should have warned you about that, huh?" said Kiree, striking out towards them with a breast-stroke,

"No harm done."

"I love this place," said Kiree, turning onto her back and floating in mid-water. "Want me to teach you how to swim?"

"No, I don't ever intend to need to swim. Thanks all the same."

"Jeez, you're as bad as Shayla."

"You can't swim either?" she asked the elf.

"I can swim. But there are other things that I can't do, and have no interest in doing."

"Didn't you ever go swimming in ponds when you were a kid?" Kiree asked Esme.

"There were no ponds where I grew up. There were orchards, though. I learnt how to climb trees. Will that suffice?"

"It's not as important as being able to swim."

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, sitting on the ledge and closing her eyes, resting her head against the side of the pool. "What do you think of Silverymoon so far? Do you believe you'll enjoy living here?"

"It seems nice enough, though I don't know if I'll ever get used to all these festivals. I think I'll like it. But I'm a bit worried about making friends. It's not something that I've had to do very often. What if I can't make any friends here, and I'm miserable?" she said, giving voice to one of her worst fears.

"Nonsense. We will introduce you to people."

"And you already know Elim," Kiree grinned. "Tomorrow night, you and I are _definitely_ going out without supervision."

"Silverymoon won't know what hit it," said Shayla wryly.

"Hey, do you think we could go and get our hair done after we're finished here?"

Our hair 'done'?" Esme asked.

"Yeah, there's a few shops who cater to women. You know, making creams for skin, dressing hair in fantastic styles. Lost of nobles visit places like that."

"Kiree, you said you grew up here in Silverymoon. Does that mean your family are here too?"

"Nah, they moved south a few years ago for the better weather. Somewhere outside Athkatla, I think."

"You don't know?"

"I haven't seen in them in a while. They never really approved of my lifestyle, and after I had to leave with Shayla, by the time I got back, they'd already gone. I asked around, and some of our old neighbours told me where they'd gone, and why. They're probably a lot happier without me in their lives heaping shame on them and whatnot."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Shayla. "You're not the person you used to be. You do a lot of good for people, now."

"But I'm still a glorified mercenary. It's not a proper lifestyle as far as they're concerned."

"Do you have any family, other than your mother, Shayla?" Esme asked, hoping to glean some more information about her new friends.

"I would prefer not to speak of my people," the elf replied coolly.

"Okay, sorry I asked."

"Don't be. All of us have issues with home and family, or we likely wouldn't be here."

"Good point," she smiled.

Shayla held her breath and dipped her head beneath the water, wetting her hair thoroughly, then set off for a short circuit around the pool. Kiree was still floating on her back, so Esme contented with dipping her head beneath the surface as Shayla had, working some of the dust out of her hair. Then she used her hands to wash the rest of her body, enjoying the feeling of warmth and bubbles on her skin.

When their hour was almost up, they left the pool and dried using towels provided by one of the attendants at the baths, and dressed in clean clothes they'd brought along with them. When they stepped outside, the sun was still less than halfway to the horizon. They passed several street performers before returning to the main road, and then Kiree rubbed her hands together.

"So, hair, yes?"

"I suppose it cannot hurt this once," Shayla sighed.

"Excellent!"

o - o - o - o - o

As Esme followed Kiree along the streets back to the Hall, she felt like an entirely different person. Her long, loose curls had been combed and tamed into compliance. Now, her hair was fastened up at the back of her head, except for a few loose strands of curled hair which had been left free to frame her face. Shayla's long, shiny black hair had been arranged into an intricate plait, since the elf down-right refused to have hair piled on her head 'like some pampered sun-elf' as she termed it, and the top half of Kiree's blonde hair had been curled into rolls which circled her head like a crown, whilst the bottom half had been left straight and free.

"Well, at least you and I look somewhat civilised," Kiree said to her. "Shayla, won't you wear a dress?"

"Absolutely not. A dress is a hindrance to me. How can I run and fight if I am constantly hampered by a skirt?"

"But you don't _need_ to run and fight here!"

"Never say never."

Esme let their light-hearted bickering pass through her ears virtually unheard as she peered at a small tent that had been erected to the side of the street. It was made of thick, violet material, with silver moons and stars sewn onto it. What kind of performer would set up in such a small, isolated area? Not many people could watch a performance inside it, unless it was a puppet stage which would open its curtains later.

"What is that?" she asked aloud. Both of her friends stopped arguing about fashion versus function and stopped to look at the tent.

"Fortune-teller," Shayla said dismissively. "Some people believe they can use magic to determine events of the future, and they charge you an inordinate amount of money for their half-lies and guesswork."

"Oooh, a fortune-teller!" said Kiree. "They're quite rare, here, because the wizards of the University tend to discredit them all too often. Let's go and see about getting our futures told!"

"I have no desire to associate with such charlatans."

"Aw, don't be a spoil-sport. What do you say, Esme?"

"I don't know," she said reluctantly. "I'm not sure if I believe in fortune-telling."

"But what can it hurt? It's just a bit of fun. Besides, maybe the teller will be able to tell me if I'll meet the love of my life during the festivals. Come on, pleaaaaaase?"

"Alright, I'll come with you!" she said, not wanting to see her friend resort to begging.

"Then I'll come to make sure the pair of you keep your heads screwed on right and don't fall for all of the teller's nonsense," said Shayla firmly.

"Great!" said Kiree, taking the both by the hand and guiding them towards the teller's tent. As they approached, a tall dark-skinned man exited the structure, closing the flaps behind him. Then he stood in front of the entrance, his arms folded over his chest which was covered with an open silk waistcoat.

"Welcome to Madame Halla's," he said. "Are you looking to have your fortunes read and your futures told?"

"Of course!" said Kiree. Shayla rolled her eyes, and the man looked towards her.

"You are a unbeliever," the man pointed out.

"Well done, o'astute one," said Shayla drily, and Esme _really_ wished she wouldn't antagonise the huge, hulking stranger any further. "I'm not here to have my fortunes read, I am simply accompanying my friends, who lack any sort of common sense." So much for wishes.

"I really want to have my future told," she assured the man. "How much would it cost for two of us?" The man looked down at her, studying her for a minute.

"Madame Halla does not request payment until after you have heard her telling. If you are not satisfied with what you have heard, you do not pay her a penny."

"Nobody unscrupulous enough to accept a service without paying would take part in this sort of endeavour in the first place," Shayla pointed out.

"Sounds good to me," said Kiree. "Can we see Madame Halla now?"

"You may," said the man, stepping aside and opening the tent flap for them. Kiree immediately ducked inside, and Esme followed her, with Shayla sighing and huffing as if simply going into the tent was more trouble than it was worth. Inside, the strong scent of incense tickled her nose, bringing back strong memories of the temple of Lathander, where incense was used to clear the mind and cleanse the spirit. Madame Halla turned out to be a dark-skinned human woman with dark red curly hair piled on top of her head. She wore a ring on almost every finger, and a thick tiger's eye pendant was around her neck. She was seated on a cushion, a round crystal ball on the small table in front of her, and several empty cushions were near the flap-side of the tent.

"Come in and be seated," said Madame Halla, her voice sultry and with a strong foreign flavour to it. She waited for them all to sit before speaking again. "Only two of you are here to have your futures revealed to you."

"Did you foresee that?" Kiree asked.

"No, I heard you arguing with Miradar outside the tent," the woman smiled.

"How exactly does this work?" Esme asked.

"I take your hands, pray to Savras, and by his will I shall see some truth of your future. Or not, as the case sometimes is. Which of you would like to go first."

"She would," said Kiree, pointing at Esme, as if this had all been her idea from the start!

"Very well, child," said Madame Halla. "Please give me your hands." With some reservation, she stretched out her arms and put her hands upon the outstretched hands of the seer. "Do you have a specific question, or would you like a standard reading?"

"Shouldn't you already know that?" Shayla asked.

"What's the difference?" Esme asked before Madame Halla could even think about replying to the elf.

"If you have a specific question, perhaps relating to fortune or luck or love or exploration, I can attempt to get an accurate image of your endeavour, and let you know whether or not you will meet with success or ruin. If you have no specific question, I will ask Savras for a general image of your life, which will include aspects of past, present and future. Usually, the images for general readings are less clear, but they may be more helpful than an answer to a single question."

"I'd like a general reading, please," she said. She had no specific questions, or at least, none that she could ever give voice.

"Very well." Madame Halla closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, and was silent for some time. Esme heard Kiree shifting on the cushions beside her, and could almost feel Shayla's impatience, but she did not look around at her friends. Her attention was completely focused upon the woman in front of her. She didn't know who Savras was, but if Madame Halla was praying to him, he must be some sort of god. Would a god personally answer the prayers of a simple woman like Halla? Finally, the woman opened her eyes, but instead at looking _at_ Esme, she seemed to look _through_ her.

"I see images of your past," Halla said in a flat voice. "You were born in one temple and raised in another, taken from darkness and cast into the light."

"Can you see my mother?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. She died during childbirth. There were complications. But you were taken from there when you were young. They came in the night, a thousand gleaming lights, stars fallen from the sky to wash away the darkness."

"I've heard enough about my past," she said, feeling her hands tighten around Madame Halla's. She had absolutely no desire to relive that night.

"Of your present," said the seer, "I see you standing at the crux of two roads. One is short and well-paved, clear of all obstructions. It is the quiet road, patrolled and free from dangers. The second is longer, and my sight of it fails after a few dozen paces. I know, though, that this road is little more than a trail, wild and untamed. It is rocky, and it is dangerous. It is the long road, but the length of each road refers not to the span of your years, but to your effects on the world around you."

"Do you know which path I should take?"

"Both are equally valid. Both are the paths of your life. That you will walk only one of them is a minor thing. Do you wish to hear of your future? We can stop now, if you prefer."

"No, tell me. Please." By now, she didn't doubt the soothsayer's ability. Nobody could have known about her past in that much detail, unless they had been there on the night that she was rescued from the temple of Bhaal. She hadn't even told Shayla and the others that she had born in a temple. All they knew was that she had been raised in one after her parents had died.

"As you wish. I see three men in your future-"

"Only three?" Kiree asked, sounding wholly disappointed.

"Only three that matter, though there may be others. Any others will be insignificant."

"That means 'casual'," Kiree whispered.

"What can you tell me about these men?" she asked, leaning forward and ignoring the halfling.

"I cannot see their faces..."

"How convenient," said Shayla.

"The first I cannot see because he sits shrouded in darkness and shadow, and he will ask you to set him free. The second stands in a light so bright that his face is hidden by the blinding whiteness, and he will ask you to stay. The third walks cloaked in grey mist upon a trail of bones, and though you will come to know him, he will not be the man you think him."

"And these men will be important to me?" she asked.

"They will define your life. This is all that I see."

"My turn?" Kiree asked. Madame Halla blinked, and seemed to come out of whatever trance she'd been in.

"Yes, it is your turn now. I can see no more for your friend. I have reached the limits of the gifts granted to me by Savras."

Esme and Kiree switched placed, and Madame Halla went through a similar procedure with the halfling, asking her if she had any specific questions. Esme only half-listened as Kiree asked about wealth and love, and as Madame Halla told her that she'd never be truly wealthy, but after many years would finally find the man of her dreams. She was dwelling instead upon the things that Madame Halla had revealed to her. What crux could be currently be standing at, and to where did the two roads lead? And who could these men be, who would have so much influence upon her life? She idly wondered if the dark-shrouded or grey-cloaked man might be Elim, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She doubted that a mere bartender, no matter how charming and attractive, could define her life.

It was something that she pondered over for the next few days, but eventually, the words of the seer began to fade from her mind as other, more pressing matters arose.

* * *

A/N: 'Sir Eglamore' is a traditional English folk song. Like all traditional folk songs, it is about sex. Sometimes it's listed as a ballad, and the dragon is male, in which case it's usually more of a tale about vanquishing evil. The version in this chapter is one of the later translations - if you want to hear what it sounds like sung, check out Kate Rusby on youtube. Earlier versions of the verses (along with sheet music) can easily be googled if you so wish.


	15. Before the Storm

Chapter 15.

Before the Storm

"_Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding."_ - Ralph Waldo Emerson

o - o - o - o - o

When Esme awoke the next morning, she spent some time lying on her back, looking at the ceiling, thinking about her experiences over the past few days. The previous night, they'd all gone out for dinner to a nice tavern and listened to some of the local indoor performers. It had been a nice relaxing end to a lazy day, and today she had plans to visit the shrines again, to offer a proper prayer to Lathander.

She sat up in bed, and realised her nightgown was clinging damply to her body. Running her hand across the back of her forehead, she found it slick with sweat. She made her way to the window and threw it open, waiting for the breeze to cool her. But no breeze came; instead, the air itself was humid and felt heavy, as if something was pushing down on it. With a sigh, she closed the window and went to wash herself with cool water from the wash-stand in the corner of her room. Finally feeling a little cleaner, she dressed in the lightest dress she owned - a floaty, purple dress with a low neckline and sleeves adorned with yellow lace.

Down in the common room, she found only Belvar, and took a seat at the table beside him. He grunted a greeting at her, but otherwise kept his attention on the pile of scrolls on the table in front of him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, gesturing to the scrolls once she'd ordered breakfast for herself.

"Deciding what to work on next," he sighed.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well... I'm going to the library soon. You can come with me, if you want to. Help me do some research and district that dragon of a librarian when I go into the restricted section."

"Sure, I'd love to. I'd also like to see if they have any books on alchemy and potion-making."

"Aye, I'm sure they do. Well, since I have your help, I think we'll look through their books on the founding of Luruar and the Silver Marches. How does that sound?"

"Interesting."

"Heh. Well, we'll see if you think the same after you've actually spent a few hours reading about the stuff. The only one I can coax into libraries these days is Lucas, but he mainly spends his time looking for sources for new songs."

"Well, I'm looking forward to it," she said with a smile.

After breakfast, they strolled through the streets, but she wasn't as interested in the street performances as she had been originally. They were still good, but some of the novelty had worn off, and she was actually looking forward to a quiet day before Kiree dragged her out at night for 'unsupervised fun'.

The library turned out to be an impressive white building in the Palace District, and when they entered by the large open doors they were plunged into shade and blessed coolness. The grand rooms of the library, high-ceilinged and devoid of crowds, did not hold heat easily, and at first it almost felt cold compared to outside. It took her a while to acclimatise, but when she did, she wished somebody had told her about this place sooner. It was too bad she couldn't sleep here.

She spent the first couple of hours fetching and returning books for Belvar, copying notes onto parchment - but only after he'd seen her hand and deemed it worthy - and distracting the librarians whenever Belvar wanted to look at something he wasn't supposed to be reading. After a time, he told her where she could find books regarding alchemy and such, and told her to knock herself out. She spent what felt like hours poring over old tomes and rare scrolls, writing out the recipes that interested her. She might not have somewhere to make them, yet, but at least she could take them back to the Hall and try to commit them to memory. Some time after noon, Belvar sought her out.

"How's it going?" he asked, placing his bag of scrolls on the table and looking over her shoulder at her notes.

"Quite well, thanks. I think I've found a recipe for a potion of invisibility. And I found an incantation that might bless water, making it holy. Useful against the undead. I doubt I'll have any problems with them here, but I can always sell them to mercenaries or adventurers, right?"

"Sounds like you've started to get things all planned out."

She nodded. "You know," she said, looking around at the relatively empty hall, "it's so quiet in here. Why don't you bring Shayla and Daeghun? I thought they'd love the excuse of helping you to sneak away from the noise of the festivities."

"Ah, well. Daeghun doesn't care for history and politics any more than Kiree does. And Shayla can't read."

"What? But reading something that people are taught from childhood!"

"Wild elves don't normally read or write. That's why they don't have any wizards. They have a great oral tradition, though."

"Maybe she'd let me teach her, as repayment for everything she's done for me."

"Hnh. Don't bother. I've tried plenty of times to teach her to read, but she refuses to even try. She just says she has no need of reading, and that her people get by fine without it. I think she gets offended when I ask, now. She reckons I should just respect her wishes, so I stopped trying years ago."

"But she was reading my maps just fine."

"Maps are different, they're just symbols that are more or less universally recognised. Anyway, the reason I disturbed you is because my stomach's growling like an orc in heat. I'm going to head back to the Hall, get myself something to eat. Are you going to stay here?"

"For a little while longer, yes. Then I'll visit the shrines, I think."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, I can remember where they are, and how to get back to the Hall from there. Thanks anyway, I appreciate the offer."

"Well, alright. Enjoy your praying and whatnot."

When Belvar had gone, she finished reading the book she'd already started, then returned her small pile to the shelves whence they came. Then she thanked the librarian, because she'd been raised to believe that good manners cost nothing and should be used often. When she stepped out of the library, the heat of the afternoon hit her, and her forehead immediately began to break out with sweat. On the bright side, at least she wasn't wearing her coat, but she had no handkerchief about her to wipe the perspiration away. She was just thankful that the people around her were in worse condition, often sporting sopping wet hair and clothes with damp patches.

The queues at the temples and shrines were not as long today, probably because people didn't want to spend the hottest part of the day standing in the glaring sun. She didn't have to wait long, and it was a different priest on duty today than the one who had given her advice previously. When it was her turn to step forwards, she sank down to her knees, clasped her hands in front of her chest, and prayed. It wasn't a long prayer, for she was aware of the queue standing behind her, and didn't want to keep them waiting. She simply reiterated previous prayers, thanking him for everything good in her life, asking for luck and good fortune in the future, and praying that rain would come soon to the increasingly parched lands.

She stood and turned, and saw a familiar face watching her from the crowd. When Elim saw her catch sigh of him, he waved and gestured for her to join him. He was dressed today in patterned brown trousers and a white shirt that made a stark, but quite pleasing, contrast to his dark hair and sun-kissed skin.

"Not only beautiful, but pious too?" he asked with a smile as he escorted her out of the temple area.

"Are you following me?" she asked, only half-serious.

"Yes and no. I admit I spied you leave the library, and hoped to speak to you, but when I saw you join the queue for the shrines, I thought I should let you pray in peace."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well, tonight is my night off, and I hoped you might agree to taking in some of the sights of Silverymoon with me. I am an excellent guide, I assure you."

"Had a lot of experience at escorting young women around the city?" she asked with a smile wicked enough to impress Kiree.

"Lady, you wound me with your accusations," he said, placing his hands over his breast. "You can, of course, decline my generous invitation, but I might never recover from it."

"I'm afraid Kiree has already made plans for us tonight."

"Tomorrow night, then? Presuming nobody has already monopolised your time? Tomorrow will be my last night of freedom before I must work again, and I would prefer to make the most of it."

"Oh? And your intentions are..?"

"Completely honourable, I can assure you. Though I fear I must steal a kiss before we reach the Treant's Hall, whether or not you agree to accompany me tomorrow eve."

"I've never kissed anyone before," she admitted. His eyes lit up.

"Would you like me to show you what you've been missing?" he offered. She gave it a moment's consideration. She had to kiss somebody at _some_ point, didn't she? And, admittedly, she was curious.

"Yes," she said. "I would."

He took her by the hand away from the main thoroughfare, and into the shade of a building, pulling her gently into his arms when he stopped. "Close your eyes," he said, and waited until she did. With one hand on her chin he tilted her face, and his lips met hers, warm and soft. He kissed her slowly, at first, giving her chance to get used to the feeling, then continued with more passion. A tingling feeling passed through her body from her lips to her scalp, and all the way down her spine to her toes.

"Did you like that?" he asked at last, pulling away from her.

"Very much so," she said, regaining her breath and wondering how he was able to make her whole body tingle with a single kiss.

"Consider it a taster for tomorrow night."

"I haven't said yes yet."

"But you will."

"Probably. And I take it you don't want me to bring any of my friends along?"

"They would only be a distraction."

"I'm sure they'd be saddened to hear it."

"Let's get you back to the Hall before they send a search party," he said with a smile, taking her hand in his.

As he escorted her along the dusty streets, her feet felt like they barely touched the ground. Though she wasn't fool enough to believe that Elim had any genuine feelings for her, beyond physical attraction, she'd still enjoyed kissing him, and with any luck, tomorrow night would bring more of the same. Already her mind was mentally sorting through her wardrobe, trying to decide what would be best to wear. Should she have her hair done again? She'd had to unpin it all last night before bed, but she'd quite liked how it looked pinned up. It made her feel like a real lady, instead of some runaway acolyte who'd spent years living in a forest. When the reached Treant's Hall, he opened the door for her.

"Until tomorrow night, then," he said, kissing her hand before letting it go.

"You're not coming inside?"

"I spend every working moment in this place. I don't want to spend my free time here too. I plan to visit Mielikki's Glade, to watch her children frolicking amongst the trees, and then spend some time soaking in the bath-house. This foul heat does nothing for me. Fear not, however, I will come for you at sunset."

"Farewell until tomorrow," she said with a smile, and glided into the inn. She had to search three rooms before she found her companions just starting a late lunch, but they were all present and accounted for.

"Why do you look like a cat who's just been given cream?" Kiree asked suspiciously as she sat down on a chair between the halfling and Duncan.

"Elim invited me to tour the city with him tomorrow night."

"Ah, is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Kiree!" said Duncan, sounding scandalised. "Esmerelle, do you want me to go with you? You can never be too careful around the locals."

"You most assuredly will _not_ go with her," said Lucas, bestowing a smile upon her. "Three is company, after all."

"But-"

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, cutting Duncan off. "I have arranged a meeting tomorrow with one of the wizards at the University. He is a friend of a friend, and may be agreeable to you using one of the novice study rooms for your potions, in exchange for a small fee."

"Really? That's... er... great," she said, for some reason not feeling as thrilled with the prospect as she once would have.

"If you're going out tomorrow night, we should go shopping again after your visit to the University," Kiree suggested.

"Bah, you've both more clothes than the rest of us combined," Belvar grumbled.

"You can't have too many clothes, I say."

"Kiree, what do you do with all your clothes that you buy?" she asked. "You can't possibly take them all with you."

"No, of course not. I have a friend who has some spare room in his house. For a few gold, he keeps my things safely tucked away for me. I'll introduce you to him tomorrow, if you like, that way you'll know somebody else for when we're gone."

"That would be... great," she said, feeling even more deflated.

"I will also ask some of the rangers here to check in on you from time to time," Daeghun offered. "If you need any messages sending to us, you can pass them on that way."

"Wonderful."

She started her meal in silence, listening to the others as they chatted about who would be best to introduce her to, and who she should avoid if possible. It was then she realised why she was feeling depressed. She didn't want to make new friends. She liked the friends she already had. Everything here was nice enough... the library, the baths, the shops, the entertainers, the bartenders... but it was her friends who made it truly special. The library wouldn't be the same without Belvar in it, making her laugh as he hid from the librarians. The entertainment wouldn't be the same without Lucas to comment on it or recommend other pieces to her. Without Kiree, the shops would just be places to buy things, not places to relax and have fun and socialise. Without Shayla, and Daeghun, and Duncan, the city wouldn't be complete.

"What's wrong?" Shayla asked when the elf noticed her reticence.

"I was just thinking about how much I'm going to miss you all when you've gone. In a way, you all feel like a family to me. You've made Silverymoon all the more special to me because I shared my first experiences of it with you. I wish you didn't have to leave."

"Then why not come with us?"

"What? You mean... become an adventurer? Wander the realms looking for history and songs and treasure and wisdom?"

"Those are the things _we_ wander the realms for, Esmerelle. You can wander the for your own reasons. You can bring the word of Lathander to the faithless, or heal people in need of help, or search for new ingredients for your potions."

She saw it then, in her mind. She saw herself travelling with them, giving aid and assistance to people like Lucidia and Karla who could not otherwise afford it. The overlooked people who needed all the help that they could get. It made her insides feel warm, and in that moment, she knew that it was what Lathander wanted for her. If he wanted her to stay here, in Silverymoon, it wouldn't have felt so wrong. Because travelling with the others felt so right, it must be the right thing to do.

"And you wouldn't mind?" she asked, looking around at the others to make sure Shayla wasn't speaking for herself.

"Mind? I've got myself a new shopping partner," Kiree grinned.

"I think it's an excellent idea," said Duncan. "Next time I get mauled by something, you'll be right there to help me."

"You've the best hand-writing in the group, and a quick eye for texts," said Belvar.

"I'm surprised it took you so long to ask," Lucas added.

"You are quite welcome to travel with us, Esmerelle," said Daeghun. "I've seen first-hand the effects of your potions and healing, and Shayla assures me you're capable of much more than you let on."

"Thank you all so much. It means a lot to me that you'd let me come with you. As much as I like it here, it just wouldn't be the same without all of you."

"Then to celebrate, I invite you all to Rockhaven tonight!" said Belvar.

"But we already have plans!" Kiree groaned.

"You can do your mindless hedonism whilst the night is young, and then meet us back here at the tenth hour."

"But that's too early to be halting the mindless hedonism."

"I think going to Rockhaven to celebrate is a good idea," Esme smiled. "We can do both, can't we Kiree?"

"I suppose," the halfling relented. "But you only think it's a good idea because you haven't heard dwarven music before. They have a cavern down there that echoes all the horrible loud drums until it feels like there's a tribe of orcs declaring war in your head."

"Then it's settled," said Lucas with a smile. "Tonight we'll meet at the tenth hour for dwarven torture. We'll stay in the city until Midsummer Faire, and when we leave, Esmerelle will come with us. Are we all agreed?"

"Agreed," everybody said, and it made Esme feel warm inside to add her voice to the chorus.

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning, waking from sleep wasn't as much an event as it was slow torture. Kiree had been right. The drums had been _very_ loud, and they'd played for simply _hours_, with lots of dwarven chanting thrown in. Though it wasn't chanting as she thought of it - done melodically by a chorus of priests - it was more like loud, top-of-the-voice screaming and wailing. Both Shayla and Daeghun, with their delicate elven hearing, had winced throughout the three-hour performance, and nobody else but Belvar had looked too happy either. But she was glad that she had gone, if only to be able to say that she had lived the experience once, and would never have to do it again.

Pushing her covers from her bed, and realising that her nightgown was once again plastered to her body with sweat, she reached out to the dresser, picking up the bottle she'd left there the night before knowing she'd need this morning. She sipped its contents slowly, and sighed in relief as her headache began to vanish. It wasn't a hang-over headache this time, just pain caused by the intensity of the dwarven noise. With some regret, she realised she was running out of the potion. She'd have to make some more soon, or rely on healing herself magically.

She strolled to the window and looked out over the city. The air was even hotter today than it had been yesterday, but on the horizon, grey clouds loomed. She hoped that they'd be driven this way. Even though rain might spoil the celebrations for a time, it would break the worst of the heat, and provide much-needed water for the parched plants.

When she began to dress, she chose the red and orange dress that she'd had made in Everlund, because it was the most respectable one that she owned, and she wanted to make a good impression with the wizards. With no small measure of glee, she realised tonight she would be touring the entertainments of the city with Elim, and she couldn't wait. She thought she was starting to get the hang of kissing, now, but she'd have to practice to improve.

There were a few patrons in the common room when she entered, but none of them were her friends. Then, she realised how early it truly was; the sun was only just peeking over the horizon. She gave a mental shrug. She'd always been an early riser. It was something installed into all acolytes from a young age. Waking early to see the Morninglord's light was very important, to a priest.

One of the bar staff came over to take her breakfast order, and she choose toasted bread with jam and cheese, and a pot of green tea. When the tender had left, she looked around the now-familiar common room, glancing over its inhabitants. Two humans clad in garb for forests and trails - mostly brown light leathers with green shirts - were sitting at the bar itself, whilst a fair-haired sun elf and a dark-haired moon elf held a quiet conversation in one corner of the room. Seated at a small table, a halfling and a gnome were playing some board game that she didn't recognise and looked entirely too complicated for her to grasp anyway. Sitting in a chair beside the door to the street, another elf sat, glaring at the elves in the corner of the room. His hair was black and his eyes were hazel, and though his clothes were quite neutral in colour, being brown and dark green, he wore no armour. A bow, still strung, was propped up against the wall beside him, and a quiver of arrows stood beside it. _Probably another of those Mielikki rangers,_ she thought with a shrug. They sometimes came into the Hall, to walk in the oak garden, but most of them tended to glare a lot less at the other patrons.

Lucas was the first to descend the stairs, and he did so with a spring in his step and no signs of a headache. He greeted her jauntily, and called out for the same breakfast as she. As they were both tucking into their food, Kiree came down the stairs.

"Fair morning to you both," she grinned,

"You seem to be in a good mood," Esme remarked.

"Of course I am. I'm no longer the new-girl. That title goes to you, now."

"Great," she said, rolling her eyes. "Does than mean I'm allowed to make more mistakes than everybody else, because I don't already know the ropes?"

"She has you there," Lucas chuckled. "Now that you're no longer the newest member of the group, you'll be expected to set a good example."

"Duncan didn't set a good example when_ I_ started travelling with you," the halfling said, her nose twitching in irritation.

"True, but though he possesses the body of a man, in his head, Duncan is still ten years old, and will be even when he's a hundred."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Belvar said as he descended the stairs. "So, what did you think of the performance last night?"

"It was certainly an interesting experience. One that I'll never forget," Esme replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Glad you thought so! If you ever want to go again, just let me know."

"I'll certainly do that."

"Ugh, it's too early to be awake," Duncan complained as he trudged down the stairs. He yawned behind his hand, and collapsed into a chair looking bleary-eyed and unshaven."

"Early morning is the best time to revel in the glory of Lathander," she pointed out. "What would you do if you woke one morning and the sun was gone?"

"Get a lot more sleep."

"Heh, I'll drink to that!" said Belvar.

"But then you'd all starve, because without light, plants cannot grow, and beasts will have nothing to eat. And you can't make ale without barley and hops."

"Dwarves can make ale out of rocks, when we have to," he replied soberly. "Rocks and soil."

"That explains the taste, then," Kiree winked.

"I wonder where Shayla and Daeghun are," she said. "They're usually first up. Or at least up before Belvar."

"They're probably-" Kiree's sentence was cut off by Lucas clapping a hand over the halfling's mouth.

"That's not a proper topic of conversation at the breakfast table," he said.

"You're right. I should save it for dinner. Speaking of which, when is Elim taking you out, Esme?" asked Kiree with grin of glee.

"At sunset."

"You're so lucky," Kiree sighed. "If I was your height-"

"You and I are going to have words later about what is and is not proper conversation to hold in public," said Lucas, once again releasing his hand from Kiree's lips. The halfling opened her mouth to object, but luckily, Shayla and Daeghun chose that moment to appear from their room, and Kiree fell mercifully silent.

"Good morning," Esme said to the pair as Belvar and Duncan shuffled around to make room.

"Sleep well?" Kiree asked innocently.

"I would sleep better were it not for this terrible heat," Shayla complained. "Right now I would be glad to feel Auril's touch."

"I'm sure when winter arrives, we'll all be wishing for the warmth of summer," Lucas pointed out. "Tis our way to want what we do not have."

"Uh-oh," said Duncan, rolling his eyes. "We've got another incoming maxim."

"Pity that my words so often fly widely over your head."

"Shayla."

The elf's name was spoken by an unfamiliar voice, and Esme looked up as the others turned around to see the bow-carrying elf standing beside them. Now that he was closer, she could see the beginnings of a tattoo on his neck, curling down beneath the collar of his shirt.

"Haluar?" said Shayla, echoes of disbelief ringing through her voice. "What are you doing here? How did you find me."

"I found you by looking," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His voice sounded strange... some of his words were clipped, and lacked the proper inflection. The Common tongue, she realised, was not his natural language. "As for why I am here... Shiyari and Telas sent me. I came to tell you that Malathema is dying."


	16. Cats and Pigeons

A/N: Text like this- _:::Hello:::_ denotes a character speaking in elven, translated into common for your benefit and mine.

* * *

Chapter 16.

Cats and Pigeons

"_Such are the heights of wickedness to which men are driven by religion."_ - Lucretius

o - o - o - o - o

Shayla's face paled, and she stood shakily. Esme shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wondering if everyone ought to give the elves some privacy. She didn't have the first idea who Malathema was, but clearly it was somebody important to Shayla.

"Does she know that you're here?" Shayla asked.

"No. We thought it best not to tell her. For all she knows, I'm out tracking a group of humans who passed through the edge of our forest."

"She made it quite clear to me that I am not to return until my Journey is complete."

The elf, Haluar, shrugged. "I came to deliver a message, and I have done that. Now, I will return home. This city reeks. I have seen enough of civilisation to last a life-time."

"Wait, Haluar! I... I will return with you," Shayla said at last, sounding defeated.

"Then make haste, for I am leaving within an hour."

Haluar returned to the chair by the door, and resumed staring at those around him as if the conversation had never even taken place. He was, Esme decided, quite rude.

"I'm going with you," Daeghun said, taking Shayla's hand.

"As am I," said Lucas.

"Count me in," said Belvar.

"Thank you, my friends," said Shayla. "But you will not be welcome in my homelands."

"So you've followed me around the Sword Coast for forty years and _now_ you want to be rid of me? I think not!" the dwarf huffed.

"Shayla," said Esme. "Who is Malathema?"

"My mother."

"If she's sick, I might be able to heal her."

"Haluar said 'dying', not sick."

"But I'd still like to try."

"Very well," she sighed in defeat. "You may all come, but we must make haste."

Everybody scrambled for the stairs, hurrying to their own rooms. Once in hers, Esme quickly changed into her travelling clothes, and packed a spare pair into her backpack, along with the red dress and her blankets. Then she took a piece of parchment and spare quill and ink that Belvar had lent to her.

'Dear Elim,' she wrote. 'I am forced to leave Silverymoon in some haste this morning, so unfortunately will not be able to meet you tonight as planned. Please accept my apologies, and I hope that you can find someone to enjoy the festival with in my stead. It is my hope that once matters have been resolved, I will be able to return to the city for the tour that you promised me. Until we meet again, Esmerelle.'

She blotted the ink and quickly sealed the letter inside an envelope, writing Elim's name on the front and placing it on the bed so she wouldn't forget to take it with her. Then she gathered up the rest of her clothes, dumping them haphazardly into a spare bag, and shoved the shoes in on top. She just hoped that Kiree's friend wouldn't mind looking after all of her dresses, either.

She hauled her bags downstairs, the letter clasped between her teeth, and found Lucas the only one waiting in the common room. A quick glance to the door confirmed Haluar was still there, which she was a little sorry for. Travelling to Shayla's people would have been much more pleasant without the impolite elf.

"I've sent word to the stable, asking them to ready our horses," said Lucas. "You aren't taking all that with you, are you?"

"No, just one bag with my potions and tent and the likes. Kiree mentioned something about a friend who she rents storage room from..."

"Ah, yes. I'm sure she'll be able to accommodate you."

Belvar was next down the stairs, carrying his hand-axe once again. She wondered if taking an axe into an elf-protected forest was a good idea, but said nothing. It was his weapon, and she could hardly ask him to leave it behind. Kiree followed not longer after, and she too was carting additional bags behind her.

"Don't worry," she said, "I've written a note to my friend, asking him to collect our stuff from here and take it home with him."

"Note!" she said, almost kicking herself for forgetting. She took her own letter from the table and hurried to the bar. "Can I leave this here for Elim?" she asked the man serving drinks. He nodded and took it from her, putting it out of the way behind the counter.

Both Daeghun and Shayla appeared from the stairs, each carrying a pack, Shayla holding her staff, and Daeghun with his long-bow, strung and ready for use. When Haluar saw them, he stood and approached.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"It looks like we're just waiting for Duncan, my brother,"said Daeghun, glancing around at everybody present.

"The round-ear who came looking for you? He tromped through our forest like a child. When we first heard him, we mistook him for the tarrasque."

"He has... improved, somewhat, since then," Daeghun said.

"And yet he keeps us waiting."

"It hasn't been an hour yet, Haluar," said Shayla. "I'm sure you can survive another few moments in civilisation."

"Let's not get carried away. Are you bringing all of these N'Tel'Quess with you?"

"They are my friends."

"She won't like it."

"I will deal with her."

"Twenty minutes, and then I'm leaving, with or without you."

Lucas nudged her, then Kiree and Belvar in turn, and nodded towards the door. She understood; it was time to wait outside and let Shayla, Haluar and Daeghun talk in private. Outside, three horses were being led out into the yard, and she recognised Blaze immediately, feeling a little guilty for leaving the horse forgotten in the stable.

"Now _that_ is a man who needs some quality time alone with a woman," said Kiree.

"Reminds me of Shayla and Daeghun when they first came to Waterdeep," said Belvar.

"Do you really want to go with Shayla, Lucas?" Esme asked. "I would have thought you'd prefer to stay here and partake the celebrations."

"I suspect there are many songs hidden within the depths of the Kryptgarden Forest," said Lucas. "And not even Volo can enter lands protected by wild elves."

"You don't think we'll be in any danger... do you?"

"I hope Duncan doesn't keep our guide waiting too long," he replied, without answering her question.

o - o - o - o - o

The air was heavy and tense beneath towering grey clouds. For Esme, the combination of heat and humidity was far worse than the heat alone, because the heat made her sweat, but the air, saturated with moisture, did not dry her. Not only was she sweating, but her horse was too. Its withers and neck were damp, and being seated on top of it didn't make her any cooler. Then again, the people on the ground weren't faring much better. Only their escort seemed to me comfortable; and Shayla and Daeghun, to some extent.

She thought back to their departure from Silverymoon, just a few hours ago. It seemed like a lifetime. The celebrations had been in full swing, just as they had when she'd arrived. The city had no idea of what was happening, that some of its patrons were leaving. In their absence, life went on.

"It's going to rain soon," Shayla said aloud. "We should find shelter."

"Does the rain here burn with its every drop?" Haluar asked.

"No, of course not."

"Then why hide from it?"

"Because it is uncomfortable to travel in wet clothes."

"I see. Very well, I'll find you somewhere to cower from the water." And with that, he trotted off into the forest that lined the cobbled road.

"Are the rest of your kin as charming as he is?" Kiree asked. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head and neck, a shade darker with damp.

"Some even more so."

"Wonderful."

"I did warn you that you would not be welcome."

"But we're not even _in_ your lands yet, and he's acting like it's some great sin that we're actually walking and breathing."

"He is not used to dealing with outsiders. It is the way of my people. If you had been through all we have, you would be defensive too."

They fell to silence as the clouds grew even larger overhead. When Haluar returned to tell them of a stone overhang he'd found, they didn't waste any time in following him into the forest. A flash of bright light lit the sky, and was followed seconds later by a loud peal of thunder. Esme wished that Haluar would hurry, but he kept the same infuriating steady pace. Didn't he realise they were all going to get wet?

They made it to the overhang just as the first raindrops began to fall from the sky. They came slow and heavy first, but it didn't take long for them to increase in speed and intensity. Beneath the overhang, she dismounted her horse, and slackened the saddle girth to give Blaze a chance to breathe freely and relax. When she turned to put her pack on the floor to retrieve some food from it, she found Haluar watching her.

"Is there something wrong with your legs?" he asked.

"Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"An old man might ride if his legs grow increasingly frail with age, but you do not appear to have that concern. I wonder, then, why you use the legs of a beast instead of your own."

"She rides," said Lucas, stepping up to her side, "because I bought the horse for her as a gift, and to not accept that gift would have done me a great dishonour."

"If I was given a horse, I would set him free, because no person has the right to own an animal."

"Tell that to the millions of farmers throughout the realm who keep people fed," said Duncan.

"They cannot be fed on grain, and on what they can hunt with their own weapons, and kill with their own hands?"

"You're not one of those tree-huggers, are you?"

"We are not druids. We kill animals for their meat and hides when we must. But we do not enslave them, or force them to do our bidding."

"Can we all just try to get along?" Shayla asked, allowing a note of anger into her voice. "In case you'd all forgotten, I am returning home to see my mother before she dies. This is not the time for petty squabbles."

"Petty?" said Haluar. "You have forgotten what is important. But I shall say no more on the matter, as you request." He didn't wait for a response, but left their group and went to the very edge of the over-hang, crouching into a squatting position just beyond the rain's reach. He fixed his piercing gaze out into the forest, but Esme wondered how much of a watch he was really keeping.

"I'm sorry, Shayla," said Duncan quietly. "But you heard what he said to Esme..."

"I heard, but I also understand that Esmerelle is not a child, she must learn to speak for herself. You cannot coddle her always."

"Come on," said Lucas, leading her away by the arm to where Belvar and Kiree were sat upon their blankets, pretending not to be listening to the conversation around them.

Esme sank down onto the blankets feeling guilty, even though she knew it was foolish. She wasn't truly to blame for the argument. But why did Haluar have to be so confrontational? She spent some time pondering the question. Then she remembered how scared she'd felt when she left the temple, and she was alone in the forest before she'd found Aggie's cottage. Was that why Haluar was so confrontation? Because he was away from everything he'd known, and was scared because of it? She glanced at him, crouching on the ground, hard and unmoving as stone. Scared? She doubted it.

Had some long-ago event caused him to become surly? Yes, perhaps that was it. She didn't know what might possibly have happened to him to make him behave this way, but she decided she'd try to be a little more understanding towards him, and see if that might change his attitude. After all, didn't Lathander encourage others to make friendships? Wasn't peace preferable to war?

By late afternoon, very little had changed, except the temperature had finally dropped, the heat driven off by the storm. It was a blessing, but the rain showed no signs of stopping. Belvar was napping on his blanket, Duncan had taken to polishing his sword with his whetstone, Shayla was meditating, Lucas was writing on parchment that he kept as far away from the rain as possible, and Kiree and Daeghun were playing a game involving dice and coloured stone pieces on a square, cloth board Kiree had produced from her pack. The sound of flapping wings caught Esme's attention, and she looked up from watching the two playing to see a small hawk alight on Haluar's outstretched arm. Realising this might be an excellent chance to practice her more understanding attitude towards their guide, she quietly left the group and walked towards Haluar, moving slowly so as not to frighten the bird which watched her with bright eyes. A few paces away from him, she crouched down.

"Is that your spirit-guide?" she asked.

"Yes. His name is Tal'Thimae. Swift Wing, in your tongue."

"He's a real animal, though? Not a spirit-animal, like Ashara?"

"Spirit guides need not be spirit animals."

She nodded. That was the extent of the conversation she'd planned for, and she racked her brains for something else to discuss.

"How far from your people are we?" she asked at last.

"I could make the journey in a tenday, but how fast we get there depends on how fast you and your friends travel. Personally, I think that you are slow and weak, and that you should turn back. Go back to your city and its comforts, for you slow us down, and the longer it takes us to reach my people, the greater the chance of Shayla missing her mother's parting."

"I'll keep up just fine, thank you," she said angrily. "I'm used to hardship. I'll manage."

"So, there are bones in your back after all," he chuckled without mirth. "Used to hardship, you say? Have you ever gone so cold at nights that your hands and your feet turned blue? Have you ever sat still on the freezing ground for half a day at a time, waiting the passing of a deer herd so that you can hunt and feed your family? Have you ever known days of hunger, when you thought you might never find food again? Have you ever been forced to share your blankets with another merely to stay warm at nights? Have you ever battled hordes of fell beasts to protect your home and land?"

"No, but once I got a really bad splinter. It hurt for days."

"Your humour serves you well," he said, turning his fierce gaze to her. "But you do not belong out here. Any of you. Go back to your city."

"It's not my city, and I _do_ belong out here. I don't need your approval, and I'm not going to leave my friend in her moment of need."

He turned his gaze back to the trees around them, and said nothing else to dissuade her. Whether or not he'd accepted her words, she did not know, but she'd no doubt find out on the journey. And now, she was determined to prove him wrong.

o - o - o - o - o

As they passed through the edges of the Kryptgarden forest, Shayla felt the trees envelop her like a child being embraced in its mother's arms. A feeling of peace settled over her, calming her worried heart and chasing away her fears. For most of the journey she had been withdrawn, barely participating in conversation. All of her thoughts and her energies were turned inwards as she focused on the task ahead. Malathema was dying. That made Shayla the new leader of their people. It was traditional. Mothers had passed down leadership of the the tribe since it had been founded. She just wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to lead her people yet.

None of the others knew about this, not even Daeghun. Though he had been raised amongst her people, he was not one of them, and some information, some rituals, had been denied to him. He knew this, and balked at it, and it had created a rift between him and the people who had raised him. Shayla loved him no less for it, but she could understand how he felt, even when she agreed with her elders to restrict his full knowledge of the tribe.

They travelled a full day into the forest, and her apprehension began to grow. _Don't come back until you know what it is to be shaman,_ her mother had said. She still did not know what it meant to be shaman, and sometimes, she doubted if she ever would. She had performed all of the rituals a shaman was required to perform, taken and passed all the tests, and had Journeyed for forty years. She had delved into the realm of the spirits, walked the path of the animals, and found union with the trees. She had carved symbols of power into the staff she had made with her own two hands. She had adorned her body with those symbols, and designs of nature that came to her during her vision-quests. What more could she do?

The sound of rustling leaves from a nearby bush caught her ears. They were being followed, and had been for almost half the day. Whoever had made the noise had been very careless, but nobody else, other than Haluar and Daeghun, seemed to have picked up on the fact that they were no longer alone. Lucas was telling a story, probably to keep the mood light and give everyone something to focus on. It was a good idea, because story-telling was an honoured tradition within Sy'Tel'Quessir tribes, and it would show those following that they had little to fear. She wouldn't have put it past Lucas to know that, either. He was a wily old man.

When shadows beneath trees blocking their path stepped out to reveal themselves as Loruar, Aleina, Valear and Kirsan, she was not surprised, but almost everybody else beside and behind her jumped in fright. Not Haluar, of course, but even Daeghun had an arrow on his bow before he had the presence of mind to lower his weapon. As the eldest of the group, and the most experienced hunter, Loruar stepped forward. He was tall, for an elf, and his left cheek held a dark brown spiralling tattoo which contrasted sharply with his light blue eyes.

_:::My heart is warm in your presence, Shayla,:::_ he said formally. Without waiting for a reply, he looked around at her friends, and scowled when his eyes settled on Daeghun. She knew how he felt, and why. Malathema and Loruar's mother had hoped that their children would be mated some day, and lead the tribe together; her wisdom, with his strength. But life had not turned out as their mothers had wanted. She possessed far less wisdom than Malathema had hoped, and had fallen in love with Daeghun. Loruar was still resentful.

"Shayla," said Valear, his green eyes twinkling with humour. He was almost as tall as Loruar, but would never reach the older man's full height. He propped one end of his bow on the ground and gestured towards her friends. "You brought us fresh slaves! The old ones will be happy. We won't have to work them as hard." She knew that he was joking, and speaking common so that everybody who didn't speak elven would understand. From behind, she heard Esme gasp.

"I see your sense of humour is as skewed as ever, cousin," she replied in the same tongue. Not everybody was as courteous.

_:::It is good to see your face, cousin,:::_ said Kirsan, stepping forward. He was Valear's twin in every way, except for the scar that ran diagonally across his right cheek. His eyes were green, like Valear's, but lacked his brother's sparkle, and his voice was flat and disapproving.

_:::What are these outlanders doing here?:::_ Aleina asked, not even bothering to relax her bow. Shayla felt her anger stir at the young woman's words. Aleina had been barely out of swaddling furs when she had left her people to start her Journey. She was even more of a child than Valear and Kirsan, who at least showed the courtesy of lowering their weapons.

_:::Have you forgotten my name, child?:::_ she asked, keeping a tight leash on her temper, though she knew her voice betrayed her anger. _:::Is it not 'Shayla Wolfsbane'? Does it not make me a member of the Wolfsbane tribe? Does it not make me a protector of this forest? Does it not give me the right to invite my friends into my homeland?:::_

_ :::Aleina,:::_ said Haluar with a scowl. _:::Go and tell Telas that you are too young to reign in both your tongue and your bow, and therefore you are too young to use both. Tell him you are to be given chores to be done in silence until you learn manners.:::_

The young woman's face went red with both anger and embarrassment. To be chastised so thoroughly in front of strangers, even if they could not understand what was happening, was a blow to the young woman's standing. She lowered her weapon and stomped off angrily. Foolish child. She should know better than to stop through the forest.

_:::Shayla,:::_ said Loruar, his eyes now back to her face, _:::Aleina has much to learn, and though her words were wrong, her sentiment was not. You should not have brought outlanders to our forest. Haluar should have told you that they would not be welcome.:::_

_ :::I did tell her, but you know how stubborn she can be.:::_

_ :::As I said to Aleina,:::_ she replied. _:::It is my right to invite friends into my home. I trust all of these people with my life. They will not abuse our trust.:::_

_ :::Can I have the little one?:::_ Valear asked. _:::I could send her in to setts and warrens to flush out their occupants.:::_

_ :::I have come to see Malathema,:::_ she said, ignoring the smile that tugged at her lips. _:::I must speak to her. Will you take me to her?:::_

_:::Yes,:::_ said Loruar. _:::And you came just in time.:::_

_ :::She is that close to death?:::_

He looked surprised at her words. _:::You did not tell her?:::_ he asked of Haluar.

_:::I thought I would leave that to Malathema herself,:::_ Haluar replied.

_:::Tell me what?:::_ she demanded.

_:::Come,:::_ Loruar said. _:::You must speak to Malathema yourself.:::_

o - o - o - o - o

The camp was not far away from where Loruar and the others had intercepted them, and as they approached the low dwellings which were green and brown to camouflage them, elves came out of their homes and stopped work to greet them. The Wolfsbane tribe was not large, numbering just shy of a hundred people, and as they greeted her, Shayla returned them all by name. There wasn't a single one of her people she wasn't glad to see, and their happy greetings made her realise just how long it had been since she'd last seen them. And when two familiar figures stepped out of a tent, she hurried her pace.

_:::Telas,:::_ she said, greeting the grey-haired, green-eyed father of Kirsan and Valear with a hug. _:::My heart is glad in your presence, Osi'Tan,:::_ she whispered. Ever since her own father had died, her uncle, Malathema's brother, had helped to raise her, and he was like a father to her, even more so than the man standing next to him.

_:::It is good to see you again, Shayla,:::_ said Shiyari. Her mother's mate was fair-haired, dark blonde gone silver, as some amongst the Suldusk were. A resulting of breeding with elves other than Sy'Tel'Quess, some said.

_:::And you, too, Shiyari,:::_ she replied less warmly than her greeting to Telas. She'd never quite forgiven Shiyari for taking the place of her father... nor her mother for mating with the Suldusk man. _:::Is Malathema inside?:::_

_:::She is,:::_ said Telas. _:::We will give the two of you some time alone.:::_

_:::I have brought friends with me,:::_ she said, gesturing back to her companions, who were standing quietly under the watchful eyes of Loruar, Haluar, Valear and Kirsan.

_:::Do these friends have anything to do with Aleina being sent to me with her ears redder than sunset? No, don't answer, I can see it in your eyes. We will give your friends a tent to make themselves comfortable in, and they will be watched. When they leave our camp, we will wipe clean their memories of their journey here.:::_

_ :::If you must,:::_ she acquiesced. She'd known it was a possibility that their memories would be wiped. It was how her people mainly protected their lands from non-hostile peoples. Whilst her friends were in the camp, Daeghun would remain with them, to advise them and watch over them. It was something she had agreed with him before entering Kryptgarden.

When Telas and Shiyari stepped aside, she pulled back the tent flap and stepped into her mother's home. It was almost exactly the same as she remembered it. It still smelt of herbs and incense, the same paintings adorned the walls of the semi-permanent dwelling, the same warm hides lined the floor. The only difference was that her mother was kneeling beside an open bag, and her clothes were strewn across the furs of her bed. As Shayla watched, her mother continued folding some of the clothes, packing them into the bag. Her mother, once straight and proud, was now bent with arthritis. Her once long, black tresses were now silver, almost white, with age. Her blue eyes were clouded over, her vision poor.

_:::So, you have returned,:::_ her mother said, without turning around. _:::Do you know what it is to be shaman?:::_

_:::I returned because I heard you are dying. I expected to find you in your sickbed, taking your last gasps of air. But what is this? You're packing for... for a journey?:::_

_ :::Yes, I am travelling to Suldanessellar. I will leave at first light.:::_

_ :::So you're not dying?:::_ She didn't know whether to be relieved or angry.

_:::Oh, I am dying. I give myself a couple of months, at most. I will have time for one last journey before Tel'Seldarine call me away from this life.:::_

_ :::But why travel to Suldanessellar? Why not die here, amongst your own tribe?:::_

_ :::Because I wish to see the fair city once more. I have good memories of that place. It is where I met Shiyari, and found my heart again after losing your father. And because the new leader of our people will find it easier without me lingering near.:::_

_ :::New leader..?:::_

_:::Telas will lead the Wolfsbane tribe from now on.:::_

_ :::You can't do that! The Wolfsbanes have always been led by women! Your own great-great-great grandmother founded our tribe, when she drove the first of the blood-thirsty lycans from this forest and claimed it as her own!:::_

_ :::Do not recite our history to me, child. I know what it means, and I know what I have done in naming a man as leader of our people. But it could not be any other way. I had you too late. Far too late. I was almost past my child-bearing years when Sehanine gave you to me. I did not have enough time to prepare you. And you have been gone for too long. Too many of our people see you as a stranger, now. Telas is wise, almost wise enough to be shaman, and he is loved by our people. They will follow him because they know him, and they know my trust in him. He has been taking on more and more responsibilities of leadership, these past years, when my strength has been failing me."_

_ :::Mala, I have brought with me a young woman, a healer. She may be able to help you.:::_

_ :::She cannot help me. Nobody can. It is simply my time to go.:::_

_ :::Won't you at least try? For me? Please?:::_

_ :::Very well,:::_ her mother sighed. _:::If it will still your heart, I will allow her to try.:::_

o - o - o - o - o

Inside the long, narrow tent that Shayla's people had given them, Esme sat on her blanket, reading her prayerbook. She hadn't been able to dedicate any time to praying, these past few days. This was the first time they'd stopped for more than a few hours' rest, and she was determined to make the most of it. Though she'd already read the book four times over the course of the years, she read it again, a fifth, to see if she could glean any further wisdom from it.

On the bed-space beside her, Kiree was sorting through some of her clothes, taking them out of the pack, checking them for dampness from the intermittent rain they'd travelled through, and repacking the ones which were dry. Not far away, Belvar was snoring gently on his own blanket, and Duncan was pacing hide-covered ground impatiently. He never liked being confined. Daeghun was relaxed, seated upon the floor with his bow unstrung by his side, and Lucas as in a world of his own as he played a slow tune on his flute.

The flap of the tent rippled with movement, and Shayla stuck her head inside the structure.

"Esmerelle, will you come with me?" she asked. "And bring your pack."

Esme quickly stowed her prayerbook inside an inner pocket of her bag, and followed Shayla from the tent. She was able to get a look at the camp as she followed the elf through it. Young children stared at her as she past, and she elicited more than a few curious glances, and unwelcoming stares, from the women and the men who saw her walking freely.

It was to another tent that Shayla led her, smaller than the one she had her friends had been given, but not as small as some of the others. When she entered behind her friend, she caught the scent of incense, but couldn't identify the particular herbs used in its creation. An old woman was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her eyes closed. Superficially, she resembled Shayla, and she realised this must be Malathema. But she hadn't expected the woman to be so old.

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, gesturing for her to be seated. "This is Malathema, leader of the Wolfsbane tribe of Sy'Tel'Quessir. Mala, this is Esmerelle, the young woman I told you about."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Esmerelle," said the woman, opening her eyes. They were clouded by a film of grey that indicated failing sight brought on by old age.

"It is an honour to meet you," she said genuinely. She knew, now, how few people ever made it this far into the forest. Probably nobody had seen the wild elf's camp since Daeghun's mother had brought her son to it.

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, "my mother is dying. Your skill at healing is greater than mine. Is there anything you can do for her?"

"What sort of symptoms do you suffer from?" she asked.

"Aching joints, constant fatigue, forgetfulness, irritability... especially where my meddling daughter is concerned."

"Are you in any pain?"

"My heart pains me, at times. I think it is simply weary of this life. If I need to move quickly, my lungs burn, and my muscles ache with effort."

"How long have your eyes been clouded over?"

"Oh, for years now. My sight has been growing as bad poor as my memory."

"She thinks she had only a few weeks left," Shayla added.

"I don't think, I know. I asked the spirits, and they told me. I am at the end of my years, and they have been kind enough to grant me knowledge of my approximate time of death."

"There is nothing I can do to stop you from dying," Esme said, wishing she could deliver better news. "There are things I can do to help stave off the pain, make you more comfortable, but your body is failing you. I've seen it before. I wish I could heal you, but I can't."

"Thank you for being honest with me. I didn't expect any other outcome. This was Shayla's idea. As for what you can do... do not trouble yourself. I have made drinks which take the pain from my joints, and I inhale herbs to strengthen my lungs and my heart, as much as they will allow. I must leave tomorrow, and I will not be coming back. I am able to treat myself until then."

"Thank you anyway for trying, Esmerelle," said Shayla quietly. "If you don't mind, I would like to spend some time with Malathema."

"Of course. I'll go back to the others and tell them you need to be alone. They'll understand."

She stood and left, ducking through the tent flap and out into the grey afternoon. Haluar appeared in front of her almost instantly.

"Are you ready to go back to your friends?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and wondered if she would always be guarded like a prisoner when she went anywhere in this camp. "Why is your tribe called 'Wolfsbane'?" she asked as she followed him amongst the tents. He slowed his pace to answer her.

"Many centuries ago, our people were wanderers, with no land to call our own. We were mistrusted wherever we went. The humans drove us away and other elves looked down on us, considering us little more than savages. We came to this forest because it, like us, was wild and untamed by civilisation. But it was also overrun by savage, evil lycans. Werewolves who prayed on everything in the forest and around it, until it was little more than a barren wilderness. We began to drive the lycans out, slaying them when we found them. Within a hundred years of our arrival, the forest was free from the tyranny of the lycans, and within another fifty, animal had begun to return once more. We made this place our home and paid our price in blood; the same blood that we defend it with today."

"Your people must be very proud of all they've achieved."

"We are."

Once at the tent where her friends were housed, he opened the flap for her and let her enter, closing it behind her. She'd been given a lot to think about. In a way, she understood these people better, now that she knew how hard it had been for them in the past. But she was also disapproving of their violent ways. They had gained a home by destroying the ones who had lived in it before them. Why couldn't people just learn to get along with each other? Why did they have to kill?

o - o - o - o - o

Duncan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Lucas' constant flute-playing was starting to grate on his nerves, and he hated being shut up in the small, dark tent. He'd never been good with confined spaces, which is why he always entered caves when he found them. How else was he supposed to get over his niggling fears, if not by confronting them? But there was a difference between opting to enter a cave and being thrown into a small dwelling and guarded like a criminal. It wasn't right!

The others seemed to be handling their thinly veiled incarceration better than he was. Belvar was reading scrolls, Daeghun was in reverie, and Kiree and Esme were whispering quietly together... probably talking about men. Kiree had no doubt already picked out which wild elf she was going to try and bed first. He'd have to keep a close eye on the pair. It was all well and good for Kiree to have her own wicked way with whomever she pleased, but Esme was barely more than a girl, it wouldn't be right for Kiree to get her involved with these savages. Elim was bad enough!

"Excuse me," said a voice from the entrance to the tent. He looked up and found one of the elves standing there... one of the ones who had met them in the forest and escorted them to the camp. Daeghun opened his eyes and addressed the elf in common.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Shayla has asked me to bring him," said the elf, nodding at Duncan.

"Did she say why?"

"No, and I did not ask. Only that it was important."

"Then I will come with you."

"She did not ask for you. And Telas does not want you and your friends splitting up too much. I'm sure you can understand."

"Telas shows less trust in me than I would have thought," said Daeghun.

"I would question him even less than I would question Shayla."

"It's okay, Daeghun," Duncan assured his brother. "I'll go and see what Shayla wants. You should stay here and keep an eye on things." _And make sure Kiree doesn't corrupt Esme whilst I'm gone_, he added mentally. When Daeghun nodded, he stood and followed the elf out of the tent.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name," he said as he followed the elf through the camp.

"Loruar," the man replied.

"Well met, Loruar. I'm Duncan. Daeghun's half-brother."

"I know who you are."

"Right. Hard to miss, I suppose. Hey, where are we going?" he asked, only just realising that the elf was leading him away from the camp, down a small hill.

"To the lake."

"Why, what's at the lake?"

"Shayla is there. It is where she asked me to bring you."

"What's she doing by the lake?"

"I don't know, she didn't tell me. Please, stop asking questions," the elf glared.

"Okay, okay, sorry," he said, holding up his hands.

As they approached the lake, the ground became softer and more springy. The sun was almost below the horizon, now, but there was still just enough light for him to see by; the lake reflected the sliver-thin crescent of red beyond the treetops. He heard crickets or grasshoppers - admittedly, he didn't know the difference - chirping loudly, and frogs croaking from all around. Several ducks quacked noisily across the lake, their calls echoing over the still water. Of Shayla there was no sign. By the gods, what was the woman doing down here?

"How much further until we get to Shayla?" he asked.

"We're almost there," Loruar replied.

It was the ducks that saved him. As Loruar silently drew a long, curved sword from his scabbard, the birds sensed violence in the way that only animals can. They took to flight and the noise of their passing startled Duncan, causing him to trip and fall sideways. Loruar's sword whistled through air, accompanied by a harsh elven curse. Duncan reacted immediately, reaching for his own short sword. When his hand found his hip bare, he remembered that he'd left his sword back at the tent, confident that he'd be safe with Shayla and her people.

Loruar struck again, and Duncan dodged, striking the man in the ribs, which caused him to grunt in pain. The sword flashed around and he ducked, but the tip of the weapon scored his cheek, and his blood marred the cold steel blade. That's when he realised this was no joke. It wasn't a mistake, and it wasn't a test. This man was trying to kill him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, gasping in pain and holding his palm to his bleeding cheek.

"Because your blood is filthy, and it must be cleansed, just as our lands must be cleansed from all who do not belong here." Loruar's face was contorted by rage. "You will die first, but the others will not be far behind."

The others! What was going on up at the tent right now? How many wild elves were descending upon it, trying to kill Kiree and Esme and Belvar and Lucas? How many would Daeghun kill before they finally cut him down too? He _had_ to get back there, had to help protect his friends!

Loruar slashed forward again with the sword, and Duncan dodged it easily. The elf, he realised, wasn't a very good swordsman. It was an advantage. The wild elves rarely owned or used swords. He remembered Shayla telling him that. They lacked the means to mine, refine and smelt ores and metals. Their preferred weapons were bows and staves, or knives of bone. He had to use this to his advantage.

When Loruar struck again, he dodged and stepped inside the elf's guard, striking down at the man's sword-arm with a knife-hand strike. He managed to hit a nerve and the sword fell limply out of the other man's grasp. He made a dive for the weapon, but Loruar jumped him, wrestling him to the ground. He felt cold, damp water soaking into his clothes, but quickly forget about his discomfort as Loruar punched him in the ribs and then again in the face.

With a roar of pain and anger, he pushed himself up, bringing his elbow up in an arc to catch the man a blow to his nose. The elf fell backwards with blood streaming down his chin. Duncan made another grab for the sword, but Loruar picked up a rock and threw it at him. He was forced back to avoid being hit. Believing he had the advantage, Loruar drew a small white knife. Just because it was made of bone didn't mean it was any less lethal than a metal weapon.

He made another dive for the sword, but Loruar tackled him again. All of his strength went into keeping Loruar's hand, and the knife it held, away from his neck. The elf brought back his left hand, preparing to strike him and force him to lessen his grip, but before the man could strike he brought his knee up, sending him flying over his head. Before Loruar could stand, Duncan lunged for him, grabbing his hand and striking it upon the rocky ground until his fingers opened. He prised the knife from the elf's grip but Loruar made a grab for it with his left hand. The blade turned towards Duncan, and he let go of Loruar's shoulder with his left hand to use all of his strength on the knife. With both hands now in use, he managed to turn the blade, and with one last surge of strength, plunged it down into the elf's stomach, twisting it around as it went in to cause maximum damage. The elf's screams of pain cut through the night, silencing the crickets and the frogs and the warbling nightjar.

"You... have not won..." he managed to gasp as bloody spume coated his lips and ran down his chin. Then, his eyes fell empty, and his body went limp.

Now consciously aware of his own pains, Duncan closed his eyes and gasped for breath, trying to collect his wits. He knew he had to go and help his friends, but right now, he didn't even think he could stand. So he spent a moment simply breathing, and thanking any god who was listening for saving his life. His reprieve was short-lived; he heard the noise of feet approaching, and managed to push himself up, bone-knife still in hand, as two dark-haired elves approached, their bows raised and pointed right at him.

"Come to finish the job, have you?" he spat. "Should've jumped me together. Or didn't you think a lowly 'unclean' half elf would know how to fight back?"

"Go and fetch Shayla and Telas," said one of the elves, and he recognised them now. They were the twins who had been with Loruar. It was the scarred twin who spoke now, and the other one ran off into the night. He rather wished it had been the other way around, and the twin who simply wanted to enslave them instead of killing them was left behind.

"If you've hurt my friends," he warned, his voice coming out as a growl. "If you've harmed one hair on their heads..."

"Your friends are fine within their tent. Nobody has hurt them," the elf replied. "You should not speak until Telas arrives. He will want to hear what you have to say."

So there was nothing left to do except wait in silence whilst the elf aimed his bow at his heart, until the sound of more people approaching could be heard. The elf's unscarred twin returned, with a grey-haired elf and Shayla in tow. When she saw the Loruar's body, she gasped and crouched down beside him, feeling along his neck for a pulse.

"He's dead," she said, her eyes glistening with tears as she turned to him. "Oh Duncan, what have you done?"

"Me? What have _I_ done? He came into the tent and told me he was taking me to see you! Then he brought me down here, told me I was to die for my unclean blood, and then jumped me. He had a sword, for hells' sake. I thought your people didn't carry swords? He told me the others were next. I have to go and make sure they're safe." He moved, only by a few inches, but both young elves brought their bows up, trained on his heart.

"Duncan, the others are fine," said Shayla. "All is quiet at the camp. There are no problems, and nobody else has been attacked."

"Then how come these two just happened to be here, right after I was forced to kill Loruar?"

"We saw Loruar take you from the tent and lead you away from the camp," the scarred elf replied, still sighting down his bow. "We thought it strange. So we followed."

"If we wanted you dead," said the other, "you would not be standing here now, talking as you are."

"What did you see?" the grey-haired Telas asked them.

"We saw Loruar bring him down here. We were too far away to hear words spoken. We lost sight of them for a moment. When we saw them again, they were fighting; Loruar had a sword in his hand, which looked to be of elven craft."

"Kirsan?" Telas asked. The scarred elf nodded, confirming his brother's account.

"What could have made Loruar do such a thing?" said Shayla. He could hear the distress in her voice, and it cooled his anger a little. One of her people had just tried to kill him and been killed in turn. It was hard for her to accept. "He... his mind must have been bewitched by powerful magic, or... the sword, it must have been cursed with a spell of madness."

"It is neither," Telas said angrily. "Eldreth Veluuthra."

"No, not here. Not amongst our people. You must be mistaken, Telas." Even Duncan could hear the desperation and denial in her voice.

"Yes. They have finally found us 'worthy' of conscripting. The last time I was in Suldanessellar, almost a hundred years ago now, I heard that they were stepping up their recruitment efforts. But I never thought, even for a moment, that they would target us."

"What's Eldreth Veluuthra?" Duncan asked, confused.

"They are an organisation of elves who are dedicated to the eradication of humans," Shayla explained. "They are covert and subversive, and very dangerous. Some very influential people support their agenda, although being quietly, and with funding as much as words. They conscript from all Tel'Quessir, and though they've been active in other forests such as Ardeep, Tethir and Cormanthor, they've never had any of their operatives amongst our people before."

"Loruar was one of our people who travelled often to Suldanessellar," said Telas. "He came with me last time I made the trip, and went with Malathema when she met Shiyari. He must have been subverted there, for he has had no contact with other elves, apart from that."

"He never showed any indication that he held such anti-human opinions," said the young unscarred brother.

"They rarely do, Valear," said Telas. "They are very good at hiding their true feelings. Some even vocally approve of peace with humans. They use diplomacy as a mask. And it pains me to say... they rarely operate alone." The elf sighed. "Where there is one, there are surely others."

"What's to be done?" asked Kirsan.

"We must find them, root them out. Duncan, please accept my apologies for what has happened here. If I had known that Eldreth Veluuthra were amongst my people, I would never have let you come here."

"I'm sorry I had to kill your friend. It can't be easy, knowing what he was," he replied.

"Telas, what is to be done?" Shayla asked, echoing Kirsan's question.

"First of all, your friends must not be allowed to go anywhere alone."

"No offence, but when I was with Loruar, I wasn't technically alone," he pointed out.

"Then I will set those amongst my people who I trust are not members of Eldreth Veluuthra to guard you. Since you have travelled with Daeghun and know him well, and are half-brother to him, I'm going to believe that he has not been subverted. He will guard you wherever you go. Kirsan, you will guard the halfling. Valear, you will guard the dwarf. Is there anybody else you would trust to guard your friends, Shayla?"

"I... I don't know. If you'd asked me only an hour ago, I would have said that I trusted Loruar with my life, and the life of anybody I travel with. But now..."

"Very well. I will guard the old man myself. Haluar can guard the young woman. He's never been to Suldanessellar, which stands in his favour. Shayla, whilst we protect your friends, you must find any other members of Eldreth Veluuthra."

"Me?"

"You are shaman. The people will accept an accusation coming from you. And, of course, I will support you throughout. I'm afraid that... I cannot let you and your friends leave until you have rooted out every single member of that organisation."

"And if their members should choose to strike again?"

"We will be ready for them."

"What are we to do about Luruar?" Valear asked. "There will be questions. People will want to know how he died."

"We will cover his body and bring it back to camp. We will put it somewhere quiet, where people cannot see or disturb it. We will tell them that he was swimming in the lake and was taken by cramps, and drowned."

"That is a poor excuse for the death of a warrior," said Kirsan.

"But it is the only thing I can say. They will not believe he was killed by a beast, not so close to our camp. If I tell them he was killed by a brigand, they will be frightened, and up in arms. The trackers will go out after the brigand, but find nothing and become suspicious. If I tell them the truth, they might react in anger and seek retribution against Duncan."

"It's Shiyari," Shayla said suddenly. "It must be. Think about it. He's Suldusk. He can enter and leave Suldanessellar freely. And here, amongst our people, he would be in the ideal position to subvert others. Maybe he was the one who suggested Loruar to Eldreth Veluuthra in the first place."

"You have always disliked your mother's mate, Shayla," said Telas gently. "Please do not let your prior feelings colour your investigation."

"But what if it _is_ him, Telas? You can't let him leave tomorrow. You have to make him stay."

"I have no power to do that, not without evidence. Your mother would oppose it, and I would have to explain to both of them why we are doing this. If it is Shiyari, that will tip him off and give him chance to cover his tracks."

"Don't you think seeing Duncan alive and Loruar dead will be a big enough tip-off to anybody who is responsible? If Shiyari is innocent, he will agree to stay here, for a funeral for Loruar. If he is guilty, he will insist on leaving, to put as much distance between himself and our people as possible. Would you let my mother go off with a killer like that?"

"I have to tell my friends what's happened," said Duncan.

"That's not a good idea," said Telas.

"They have a right to know, and to be able to defend themselves if they are attacked. And if I don't tell them, they'll begin to ask why they're being so closely guarded. Especially Lucas. If he thinks he's being spied upon, he'll find a way to give you the slip. But if he knows, and if he knows it's in his best interest, he'll let you guard him."

"Very well," Telas sighed. "Shayla, you will tell them, and advise them who will be guarding them. They need to be familiar with their guards, in case any Eldreth Veluuthra try to take them away under false pretenses. These are dark times indeed, when I must cast suspicions over my own people. Corellon preserve us all."

"Corellon preserve us," the other three said, and Duncan felt a chill pass over his body that had nothing to do with his damp clothes.


	17. Wolves and Sheep

Chapter 17.

Wolves and Sheep

"_It's easier to go down a hill than up, but the view is best from the top."_ -Arnold Bennett

o - o - o - o - o

With a sigh, Esme closed her prayerbook. Her vision was blurred from countless hours of reading by poor light, but it was preferable to lying awake looking at the inner roof of the tent. Nobody had slept much, that night, and the events of the evening lay over them as heavy and oppressive as the grey fog that had rolled into camp during the early hours of the morning.

"I hate just sitting around in here," she said, tossing her book into her open pack. "I'm going for a walk."

"Want me to come with you?" Kiree asked.

"No, I'll have my 'guard'. I'd like some time to just walk alone and examine some of the plants on the edges of the camp. I think I saw honeysuckle on our way in, and I'd like to collect some."

"Alright, be careful."

"Esme," said Duncan, catching her by the arm as she passed his sleeping place. "I just wanted to say thank you for last night. It seems my lot in life to be constantly tended by you."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling at his now injury-free face. "I'm just glad I could do something useful. I hate sitting around, doing nothing. I hope Shayla catches the rest of the people from that group soon."

He nodded and let her go, and she stepped out into the camp. The people were in mourning, most of them gathered around the empty tent that housed Loruar's body. This was one of the times she felt no urge to say a prayer for a departing soul. The people mourning him, or at least, the majority of them, didn't know what he was. All they knew was that one of their people had died. They didn't know that he was a murderer. But if they had known... how many of them would have shared his sentiment? How many of them would have used his death as an excuse to kill everybody within her tent? The thought of so much bloodshed made her shiver.

As she walked away from the camp, a shadow detached itself from the tree-line and followed her. Her guard, Haluar, was doing as instructed. He was keeping a close eye on her. A very close eye. Sometimes a little too close. As much as she appreciated the protection, all she really wanted was to be alone. Hoping she might put a little distance between them at the latrine pit, she walked that way, but, infuriatingly, he followed her practically to the edge.

"I'm going to use the pit," she said.

"Very well."

"Please give me some privacy."

"And if the moment I turn away is the moment Eldreth Veluuthra decides to strike?"

"I shan't hold you responsible for my death."

"As you wish."

He turned and walked a few paces to give her some privacy, and she quickly went through all the motions of using the pit, edging slowly away as she did so. That gained her a few more paces, and when she was finished, she was a good hundred yards away from him, and used her head-start to stroll into the forest.

This place was like the High Forest, but, ironically, didn't feel as dangerous. It was lighter, and airier, but also had more hills and cliffs. This close to the camp there were few animals, other than small birds and scavengers such as crows and wolverines, but she knew the deeper parts of the forest would be teeming with life. It felt good to be walking simply for the sake of moving, and not to get from one place to another. Even the fog could not take that feeling away from her.

"You must have a death wish," said Haluar when he caught up to her.

"No, just a privacy wish."

"Even without the threat of death looming over you, you would not find the privacy that you crave. Not amongst my people. As you will recall, I _did_ advise you to return to the city, to not come here."

"Did you know this would happen?" she asked, whirling around to subject him to her best glare. If it affected him, he didn't show it.

"No, I had no idea."

"But you said that we were slow and weak."

"No, I said that _you_ were slow and weak."

"Slow and weak, am I?" She said angrily. "Fine. Then deal with this."

She backed a few paces away from him and in her mind chanted the words of a spell. She raised one hand to her chest, then stopped dead still. She knew that to his eyes, she had just disappeared, and she grinned with glee at the look of confusion on his face. But instead of walking around looking for her in consternation, as she had hoped, he simply crouched down into a squat and looked right at what should have been empty space to him.

"You will not fool Eldreth Veluuthra with that, nor will you fool me. You might be gone from my sight, but I can still smell the camphor you use on your clothes to discourage biting insects, I can still hear the quiet whisper of your breath, and I can still see your tracks where you have stopped. Were you to move, you would make noise and disturb the leaves, giving your position away. Now, are you going to cease this childishness, or should I pick you up and carry you back to camp like an errant child?"

She sighed, turned, and continued walking. She knew he could track her, and he did so immediately, but she didn't try to run, because it would be futile, nor would she speak, because that would end the spell, and she rather liked that even though he knew where she was, he couldn't see her face. It was the only sort of privacy she would get.

"I know what you are thinking," he said. "You are wondering if I am Eldreth Veluuthra, and if I might kill you. And I know why you are out here, trying to rid yourself of me. You're trying to prove that you are not afraid. But if you have been marked by Eldreth Veluuthra, you _should_ be afraid. They are relentless."

She said nothing. She was afraid, a little. But she also felt that Lathander was watching over her. Even though the morning was grey and sunless, she could still feel his presence, and it made her feel calm and safe. When she found the honeysuckle she was looking for, she took a small knife from her belt and began cutting some of the flowers.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Cutting flowers," she replied, and felt the invisibility spell come to an end, revealing her body once more.

"What for?"

"I like their smell."

"Honeysuckle attracts many insects."

"Good job I've got lots of camphor then. Anyway, I can use part of the plant to make sweet tea, and the nectar I can use in certain potions."

"Shayla mentioned you are a healer," he said, crouching down and studying something on the ground. "She did not say you are also a sorcerer."

"I'm not. Not really. I just know a few spells."

"Such as?"

"I may be slow and weak," she said with a smile, "but I'm not stupid. If you _were_ Eldreth Veluuthra, then you would try to discover any talents I have, and learn about my defensive capabilities, before attacking me."

"I'm glad to see you lack your friend's shortcomings. It was foolish of him to go off alone with somebody he didn't know."

"But he thought he was safe here, amongst Shayla's people. We thought we were amongst friends. In his place, what would you have done?"

"If you wish to know, give me your attention and I will tell you."

"Alright," she said, sheathing her knife and putting the flowers into her belt pouch. She squatted down opposite him on the ground. "Enlighten me."

He swept the leaves off the bare earth and took a knife from his belt. "First," he said, making a score in the soil, "I would set up a 'safe-word'. A word that any messenger sent by one of your friends to another must quote if their message is to be believed. Once a word has been used once, change it, so it can never be passed on or used again," he added, making a second mark. "If you cannot trust yourselves to remember words, then carry tokens, something that is easily recognisable by you and your friends but would have little meaning to anybody else who saw them or took them." A third scratch joined the pair. "In Duncan's place, I would not have left the tent without my weapon, even amongst friends. Even here, he could have been surprised by a wild animal, or had need to defend himself. He didn't even have so much as a knife upon him," he said, glancing at her knife and making a fourth scratch in the soil. "And last, I would not have allowed Loruar to lead me away from camp. The moment I noticed him taking me away, I would not have questioned him, but simply walked back towards the tents." He crossed through the four lines with a fifth, horizontal scratch. "That is what I would have done, in his place."

"I admit, your safe-word and token ideas have merit," she said. "I'll speak to Shayla about arranging something like that in future.

"That would be wise."

"What would make Loruar turn towards Eldreth Veluuthra?" she asked. It was a question that had been on her mind for most of the night.

"I believe his heart was darkened when Shayla expressed her love for Daeghun. Before that, she and Loruar were planned to be mated. I think he blamed Daeghun and saw him as an outsider, but it still does not make full sense to me. Eldreth Veluuthra consider half-elves and humans their enemies... not other elves."

"Did you know him well? Loruar?"

"He was my brother."

"What?" she said, feeling shocked to her core. "You mean your actual brother? As in, shared the same parents?"

"Yes. My younger, often foolish brother," he said bitterly, though he couldn't hide the pain in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through right now. You shouldn't have to guard me, you should be able to mourn your brother in peace. Ask Shayla to set someone else to guard over me. It isn't fair to you."

"In protecting your life, I might wash away some of the shame my brother has brought to my family through his deeds," he said, standing and sheathing his knife. "Come, it isn't safe to be away from the camp for too long."

"Why not?" she asked, looking around for signs of danger.

"People will begin to question why I am spending so much time with a human child, instead of mourning my brother as is proper."

"Can we at least go on a little further?" she pleaded. "I think I saw willows not far from here yesterday, and I would like to gather some willowbark. I've run out."

"As long as you are quick about it," he said, picking up his bow once more.

"I will be."

On the short walk to the willows, she came across half a dozen plants and herbs that she knew she was running short on, and stopped to collect samples. Every stop elicited a sigh of impatience from Haluar, until she was grinning at the thought of him chomping at the bit, just like Blaze. Then she remembered what he said about the horses being enslaved, and that took the grin from her face.

When she reached the willows, she set to work, carefully removing strips of bark with the back of her knife, as Aggie had shown her. It was slow work, because she was trying to make sure she didn't damage the tree.

"Will you tell me a little bit about him?" she asked as she worked.

"Why?"

"Because I'd like to hear about him."

"I have no desire to speak of my brother to somebody who asks only to fill a silence."

"Would you prefer me to stop working?"

"I would prefer you to stop talking."

"Yeah, well," she said, peeling a final strip of bark from the tree, "I'd prefer it if all peoples and races in Faerûn would just learn to live together in peace and understanding. I guess we're both disappointed today." Then she mentally slapped herself. The man's _brother_ had just died. He didn't need to be harassed into talking. She should have seen that he didn't want to discuss it yet. "I'm sorry," she said, sighing. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. And I understand that you don't want to talk about your brother. I know you don't like me, or my friends, or my entire people, and for what they did in the past to your people, some of them probably deserved a touch of Eldreth Veluuthra. We can blame each other for all the wrongs in the world all we like, but it's not going to mend fences."

"Mend fences?"

"It's a human saying. Farmers who are neighbours have their fields separated by fences, marking their territory. If there is a dispute between them, their fences may be torn down as they try to claim each others' lands, or even fight. Well-kept fences are a sign of good neighbours, and therefore a sign of friendship." He tilted his head, as if trying to make sense of something alien, and she decided to make the most of his momentary confusion. "And before I forget, please don't call me 'child' again. I might be a child to you, but amongst my people I am old enough to be considered a woman."

He narrowed his eyes and placed his finger over his lips, indicating for her to be silent. She immediately closed her mouth, feeling her pulse begin to race. Had he heard something? Was somebody approaching, or targeting them from afar? He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her behind the willow trees. "What-" she began to whisper, but he clamped his hand over his mouth and shushed her. For a full five minutes they crouched there, her hearing strained to pick up the smallest noise whilst her legs complained about being crouched for so long. Finally, he released her mouth and allowed her to stand.

"What was it?" she asked, still whispering. "Did you hear somebody approach?"

"No. I was just practising."

"What? Practising? What do you mean, 'practising'?"

"If I am to save your life, I must know how you will react when the time comes. Had you opposed me or demanded an explanation on the spot, I would not have been pleased."

"You know," she said, setting off back towards the camp knowing he would follow, "I think you take some sort of perverse pleasure out of guarding me like this, having my life reliant on your care."

"Pleasure, by its very nature, cannot be perverse, otherwise it would not be called 'pleasure' in the first place."

She turned, to inform him how very wrong he was, and froze, feeling the blood drain from her face. He stopped too, looking surprised, and even went so far as too turn around and look for what had made her pale. But he couldn't see what she saw. He couldn't see the grey fog curling around his body. _Cloaked in grey mist._

"Do your people bury their dead, or burn them?" she asked faintly. Her head was suddenly feeling light. She hoped she wasn't going to pass out... she was quite sure that if she did, she'd never wake up.

"We bury them," he replied. "Their bodies are returned to the soil whence they came, and the souls depart to be guarded by Tel'Seldarine."

"Walking upon paths of bones," she whispered.

"That's one way of looking at it, although we never walk _upon_ our dead; we plant grave markers and cairns to show where they lie. Are you well? You've gone quite pale. And you're shaking."

"I need to see Shayla," she said, not trusting her feet to move.

"Yes, of course. We'll go to her now. Whatever afflicts you needs to be driven off, and quickly."

She barely felt it when he took her by the arm and led her back to camp. Her mind had leapt at this one, single straw, and now she had to hold onto it for dear life. If she did anything else, if she spoke, if she thought of other things, the straw might slip from her grasp, and she'd lose it forever. When they reached the camp, he took her straight to Shayla's tent, scratching on the outside and waiting for the woman to call for them to enter before pushing her in before him.

"Esme?" said Shayla, looking up from her study of a sword on the ground in front of her. "What's happened?"

"We were walking on the far edge of camp, and she was collecting herbs and the like," said Haluar. "Then she turned pale and looked as if she might pass out. I was afraid I'd have to carry her back."

"What did you do to her?"

"I did nothing! We were simply walking, and talking, and then she was like this. After she paled, she asked me if we buried or burnt our dead, and then said something about walking on bones."

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, shaking her by the shoulders. "Tell me what happened. If you saw the dead walking, you need to tell me now, so we can do something about it."

"I need to talk to you in private," she said, her voice feeling strangled.

"Haluar, leave us," Shayla demanded. He left without question. "Now, what is it?"

"Shayla," she said, in a quiet whisper, "it's him. It's Haluar. He's the other member of Eldreth Veluuthra."

"What? He can't be. What makes you accuse him?"

"Remember what Madame Halla said? One of the men in my future will be cloaked in grey mist and walk upon paths of bones. Just now, when we were walking, I saw the mist swirling around him like a cloak."

"That is superstitious nonsense! Madame Halla indeed. I will not let the words of some charlatan soothsayer interfere with my investigation. Shiyari is the other member of Eldreth Veluuthra... all I have to do is find a way to pin it on him."

"But Shayla! Remember what else Madame Halla said! She said 'I will come to know him, but he will not be the man I think him'. Doesn't that sound like somebody who's living a double life to you? Madame Halla meant that I might see his outer self, but never his inner, which belongs to Eldreth Veluuthra."

"She also said that he will help to 'define your life'. Define it, not end it."

"But what if he defines it by _trying_ to end it?" That Shayla was now using the seer's words as an argument was a sure indication she had run out of better ones.

"Think about it, Esme," said the elven woman, placing both hands on her shoulders and focusing her deep blue eyes on her, "the seer said there would be three men in your life, the man cloaked in grey mist just one of them. If you accept that as truth, then you must accept the whole of Halla's reading in truth, in its entirety. In which case, there is still the man in shadows and the man in light, and if Haluar kills you now, you'll never meet those other two, which means the reading would be false."

"Unless he tries to kill me and fails."

"In which case you've nothing to worry about. Now, go back to the others and leave me to my investigation. Please speak no more of Haluar, and speak nothing of your accusation to the others."

"I'll be right," she said, standing and feeling the colour return to her cheeks, powered by rising anger. "You'll see. He'll try to kill me, and I'll be right, and then you'll have to apologise."

She left the tent without waiting for an answer, and affected her best haughty walk back to her friends' tent with Haluar in tow.

"You look better," he remarked. "Was Shayla able to heal you?"

"Yes," she said, turning and forcing herself to look into his hazel eyes. She couldn't let him know that she was on to him, that she suspected. She needed to keep him thinking that he had the upper hand. "She was, thank you. And thank you for bringing me to her so speedily." She turned to enter the tent, but he caught her arm in his hand to stop her.

"Just so you know," he said quietly, "I will be watching very carefully for signs of invisible people leaving the tent. If I were to find any invisible person leaving, I am sure Telas would arrange it that that person should eat, sleep, and visit the pit with their guide, so that they are never left alone again."

"Don't worry," she replied coolly. "I'm not going to leave." _Not now that I know who you are._ "Is that all?" He stared at her for a moment, and she was proud that she didn't look away.

"One more thing, Esmerelle," he said. "We Sy'Tel'Quessir prefer to live without fences. We find them too restrictive."

He released her arm and she entered the relatively safe confines of the tent. What exactly had he meant with his comment about fences? It seemed the more she knew about these people, the less she understood them.

o - o - o - o - o

When Esmerelle had gone, Shayla closed her eyes and rested her throbbing head in her hands. She had half a mind to bring the girl back and ask her for healing, but the thought of having to put up with more soothsayer-based accusations was enough to force her to tolerate the pain. When she was sure Haluar and Esme were gone, she sent Ashara to fetch Kirsan and Valear from where they sat watching the tent.

There was, of course, no question of mentioning Esme's accusations to anybody. If she tried to claim that Haluar was a member of Eldreth Veluuthra simply on the word of some crazy human seer and a scared child, she would be laughed out of the forest and likely banned from ever returning. Besides, she was sure Shiyari was the culprit. She knew it in her heart of hearts, and it justified her ill-feeling and suspicion towards him after he had become her mother's mate. Everybody thought she had been childish for disliking the mate of her mother for replacing her father, but now she was vindicated.

Unless... unless Shiyari wasn't the only other member of Eldreth here. Unless the sickness in her people went deeper than she had originally thought. Perhaps Haluar and Shiyari were working together. Hadn't Haluar said, after all, that Telas and Shiyari had sent him? What if Shiyari had suggested it to Telas, to make it seem more formal? Telas was the leader of her people now, after all. Those who might question Shayari sending Haluar to find her wouldn't think twice if Telas had also asked. And if Shayari had managed to recruit Haluar and Loruar, how many others had he infected with his anti-human propaganda? She sighed, and wish Telas had never given her this task.

There came a scratch from outside her tent, and twin faces popped between the flaps.

_:::You sent for us, o'wise and venerable shaman?::: _said Valear with a smile.

_:::My heart sings in your presence,:::_ she replied, glad that she could at least trust these two people, if no others. _:::Please, come in, be seated. I'd offer you tea but I haven't had chance to make any today.:::_

_ :::You have much to do,:::_ said Kirsan graciously. _:::There is no need to stand on formality. Not now.:::_

_ :::Besides, we've been drinking tea since midnight,:::_ Valear grimaced. _:::It helps keep us awake:::_

_ :::I'm sorry that you have to skip trance for this. I hope to have found evidence soon,:::_ she said, then gestured to the sword on the ground in front of her. _:::Is this the sword you saw Loruar using when he and Duncan fought?:::_

_ :::It looks to be the same one,:::_ said Kirsan.

_:::Yes,:::_ Valear confirmed. _:::The length and curvature are the same. You brought this from the lakeside?:::_

_ :::Yes, I thought it might be important. I had Lucas take a look at it.:::_

_ :::You still believed it might be cursed?:::_

_ :::I'd hoped for it. But he found nothing. He says the weapon, at least the blade, is definitely of elven craft. You see the writing, here, etched into the metal along the top edge? He said it says 'Let justice fall swiftly upon the unworthy'. Belvar has examined the weapon too, and has dated the blade, but not the hilt, to the times of Earlann.:::_

_ :::But Earlann was a nation of Or'Tel'Quessir, for the most part,:::_ said Kirsan. _:::They have as little love for working metal as we.:::_

_ :::I know. It is of sun-elf construction, he says, possibly gifted to a noble family of Earlann by nobles of a sun elven family. We think it was found in the ruins of Earlann by an agent of the Eldreth Veluuthra, which would explain why the hilt is less than four hundred years old, and of a much more contemporary design than the traditional blade. It's likely the blade was inscribed with the words on its metal, and given to Loruar at his initiation. To strike at the enemy of an elf using a blade once made in a time when humans were often responsible for the down-fall our people? That would be a mighty symbol, to Eldreth. Almost like their ancestors striking back at a hated enemy from the grave.:::_

_ :::How goes the rest of your investigation?:::_ Valear asked.

_:::Not well. I have spoken to people as circumspectly as possible, but they are of course in grieving, and it would not be right to question them too harshly. It is also difficult to ask questions without arousing suspicions. I have a few names of our people who've travelled often to Suldanessellar, or been away from our camp without company for extended periods. I just wish I could have been here. Perhaps I could have seen this coming. Mala has not been seeing well these past few years. Not only is her vision poor, but she struggles most days to trance, so she cannot see with her mind or her eyes. And Telas has been busy trying to lead our people, to take the pressure off Mala... I should have been here.:::_

_ :::This is not your fault, cousin. But you must find the guilty and quickly. So far, we have been able to pass ourselves off as those chosen by Telas to 'guard' your guests, to ensure they do not make mischief, but soon people will begin to wonder why we guard for so long, why nobody has come to relieve us and give chance to rest. We've only got away with it so far because people are mourning, and not paying true attention to what is in front of their eyes.:::_

_ :::Thank you both for your help,:::_ she said, wishing they hadn't put even more pressure on her to act swiftly. _:::You should return now to your duty, lest your wards escape you.:::_

_ :::Escape?:::_ Valear snorted. _:::All the dwarf ever does is sleep. Were I to lose him, I need only follow the sound of his snores to find him again.:::_

_ :::I will swap you for the halfling,:::_ Kirsan said as they left the tent, their voices growing fainter with distance. _:::She talks incessantly whenever I must escort her, and I'm sure I caught her looking at my...:::_

Shayla turned her attention back to the sword, and her head began pounding again. The words that she couldn't read upon the blade seemed to mock her, now. _Let justice fall swiftly indeed,_ she thought to herself. _But this time, sword, I will be the one to deliver it._

o - o - o - o - o

Lucas stared at the square of cloth in front of him, and at how the stones were laid out upon it. His opponent was a quick learner, always moving five steps ahead, always making good guesses as to where he was going to be next. But Lucas was better. He'd had more experience at games than the long-lived elf. More experience of games, and battle, and politics. That was what this game was about, really. It wasn't about stones on cloth, it was about knowing yourself and your enemy.

A shadow fell across the board, and he looked up to see a silver-haired elf woman with foggy eyes looking down upon them.

"Telas, I need to speak with you," she said in common, and he filed that information away for later.

"Malathema," Telas smiled, turning on the ground and stretching his legs out in front of him. "It is good to see you out of your tent. I would like you to introduce you to Shayla's friend, Lucas. He has travelled with her for much of her Journey."

"It is an honour and a privilege to be here in your home," he said, standing and offering her a deep bow with a swish of his cloak. "I would like to thank you, on behalf of all my friends, for your gracious hospitality. If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to name it."

"I am pleased to meet you, Lucas. I hope my daughter has not given you too much trouble?"

"None at all, I assure you. She is a treasure, a rare and beautiful jewel, and I am the richer in happiness for having known her."

"This is Shayla we're talking about," said Mala with a wry smile. "Beautiful she may be, but she has a temper to match her beauty and a mouth to speak it. I should know, I gave them to her. As for anything you can do for me... you can leave me for a few moments. I must speak to Telas alone."

"Would you be so good as to wait for me over there by the fire?" Telas said loudly to him, patting him on the arm and gesturing towards a nearby camp-fire as if he was an imbecile. "He is a little deaf at times," Telas explained to Mala. "Sometimes he doesn't hear unless you shout."

"The fire, you say?" Lucas said. "Yes, of course, I'll wait for you over there. Just come and fetch me when you're ready, and we can continue our game.

He chuckled to himself as he made his way, limping, to the fire. The limp was serving him in good stead, here. The people who shied away from Duncan and Belvar, and watched Kiree and Esme with overly cautious stares, were more friendly towards a partially crippled old man who clearly shouldn't be out in the forest at his old age. Some of the women had given him food, and he was always assured a place beside any fire he sat at.

As he folded himself down slowly onto the floor, he began humming under his breath, and stared into the flames of the fire. An old man humming with a vacant expression was somebody not to be disturbed... and he was also somebody who wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to the world around him. In this state, he had overheard many important, and often deadly, secrets. Many saw old age as a hindrance, as something that was inevitable but unfavourable. Those people were fools. Old age was not a hindrance, it was a tool, and one he exploited to its fullest. Nobody ever suspected the elderly of plotting and scheming. He'd even taken, at an earlier age, to lightening his already fair hair with lemon juice, to make it go whiter, and therefore make him appear older than he was in reality. He'd had quite the reputation for enjoying eating raw lemons, back in his day, but he rarely had to use them, now that his hair was turning naturally white.

"Telas, why do you sit with the old man constantly?" Malathema asked, as if she herself was a spring chicken.

"Because he is a bard amongst his people, with many stories. He wishes to learn of our ways, and I wish to learn of his. There is no harm in humouring an old man, is there?" Telas replied. They were speaking in elven, but it was a language he understood. Nobody knew that, not even Shayla, or Daeghun. He had learnt it long ago, as a young man, from a beautiful elven lass. Granted, she was a sun elf, and the wild elven language was slightly modified, with inflections he sometimes missed, and nuances which had to be interpreted a certain way, and the dialect was a little harsher to his ears than he was used to, sometimes peppered with local terms, but he understood enough of it to know what they were saying.

"That is not what I mean, and you know it. Why are you sitting here playing games when you should be organising Loruar's funeral? It is for this reason Shiyari and I have remained behind, and it is bad luck to leave a body unburied for too long. You know this."

"Yes, but it's not that simple, Mala. Loruar had wishes-"

"What wishes?"

"Wishes about how and when he should be buried, that he passed on to Haluar long ago, in case anything should happen to him. For example, he wished to be buried at sunrise, to symbolise the circle of life. He did not want his body to lie throughout the darkness of night. Obviously, burying him this morning, so soon after his death, was out of the question. Shayla had to perform certain rites-"

"What rites? All rites are performed at the burial, not before it."

"I'm not sure, I didn't want to question her too closely. It is a delicate subject for one such as me, who is not shaman."

"You should have come to me, not to Shayla."

"But Mala, you have asked me to lead. When I lead, I would like to have a shaman here with me, to guide me in the way of the spirits. I want Shayla to be that shaman, but I need to give her this opportunity to prove herself. She needs this experience, of burying a close friend, if she is to grow and if the people are to accept her."

"And so far she has advised you poorly! Waiting so long for a burial!" Mala sighed. "But you are right. It would not be appropriate for me to perform the burial, now that I have stepped down. It would only confuse our people, and send them mixed messages. Some see it as an omen, you know. That on the day in which I am to leave, one of our people dies. You must stamp out that sort of foolishness as soon as possible."

"Are you sure that it isn't an omen? Perhaps the people are right."

"The people are scared, of change, and of death. Rarely does death strike so close to our own camp. I will stay for the funeral tomorrow morning, and then I will take my leave."

"You won't stay for the mourning tomorrow night? You won't partake in the last meal with will share in memory of Loruar?"

"I cannot. Every moment that I waste is a moment lost to me. If I am to die in Suldanessellar, and not upon an open stretch of road, I need to leave before noon tomorrow."

"Very well, Mala. It will be as you say. Loruar shall be buried at dawn tomorrow. I will make sure of it."

Lucas didn't watch Malathema leave, but he heard her walk away. He kept his gaze on the fire, his mind ticking over everything he had heard. He did not, for one moment, believe that Mala was a member of Eldreth Veluuthra, and he doubted, however much Shayla wanted to believe it, that Shiyari was one either. But if they were going to bury Loruar by dawn, Shayla needed to have found the traitor by then, because nobody seeing Loruar's body would ever believe that the man had drowned.

"You may come back now, Lucas," said Telas, still in elven. He kept his humming to the same, steady tone, and did not even so much as flicker an eye. He waited until the elf repeated his request in common before returning to their game, smiling as if they hadn't even been interrupted. Yes, his opponent was a quick learner, and crafty, too. But Lucas was far more crafty than he.

o - o - o - o - o

Esme pushed boiled vegetables around her wooden plate. It wasn't that the small carrots and peas didn't taste nice, or that the slice of deer meat wasn't cooked enough. She simply wasn't hungry, which was quite rare for her. Belvar, on the other hand, didn't have her worries to contend with, and after finishing off his own plate, he offered to clean hers, if she wasn't going to do it herself. She gave it to him gladly, then lay back on her blanket and wondered why she had ever decided to leave the city. If she ever got back there, she was never going to leave it again. Silverymoon might be occasionally dangerous, but at least she didn't have to worry about being killed simply for being human.

"Esmerelle!"

Telas' voice was tinged with urgency as he pushed his way into the tent, and, sitting up, she quickly saw why. Shayla was in his arms, and the woman was covered with blood from dozens of cuts all over her arms and legs. Most were shallow, but one or two were deep enough to be a cause of concern. As soon as he saw his beloved, Daeghun, leapt to Telas' side and took Shayla's hand. Her eyes were closed, but her lids flickered, as if she was fighting to keep hold of consciousness.

"What happened?" Daeghun demanded. "Was she attacked?"

"I don't know. I found her like this in her tent. Esmerelle, she needs help, and quickly."

Esme was only a few seconds behind Daeghun, and this time she didn't even bother trying to examine Shayla, or stem the flow of blood with bandages. She simply reached out and channelled healing magic into the elf's body, working first on the deeper cuts before closing up the shallow ones. When the light of the magic faded, there was not a scratch left on Shayla's skin. The elf's eyelids were fully closed, now, as she rested peacefully.

"She's sleeping, and we should leave her so," she said. "Her body will need rest."

"Where is the halfling?" Telas asked, looking around the tent.

"She went for a walk with Kirsan," said Duncan.

"Daeghun, please go and fetch them. And ask Haluar and Valear to come in here also."

"Do you think Kiree is in danger?" Esme asked as Daeghun left the tent.

"No, but I must speak to you all together."

"What is this about, Telas?" Lucas asked.

"I will tell you when all are here."

Haluar and Valear were first to enter, and they both crouched down beside Shayla, conferring quietly in elven. Esme wished she could understand what they were saying. Was Haluar responsible for what had happened to Shayla? Had he been disturbed by Telas and fled the scene? By the time Daeghun returned with Kiree and Kirsan, she felt like she could barely contain her impatience any longer.

"I have spoken to Malathema," Telas said at last. "We must bury Loruar at dawn. Mala plans to be gone by noon."

"But if you bury him tomorrow, everyone will know that he didn't drown. You'll have to tell them what happened," said Duncan worriedly. Esme couldn't blame him. If the people grew angry with him for killing Loruar in self-defence, they might try to exact revenge.

"Mala cannot go," said Shayla, propping herself up, though she looked a little shaken. "It is Shiyari. I know it."

"Shayla, until you can offer proof-"

"I have proof," she said. "I went on a vision quest, and asked the spirits for aid. It was... difficult. The spirits sometimes ask a heavy price. I had to pay mine in blood."

"You did that to yourself?" Esme gasped.

"Yes. And I would pay it again gladly, a hundred times over."

"Did the spirits name Shiyari as a member of Eldreth Veluuthra?" Telas asked her.

"No," the elf grimaced. "But they told me that only one other member of the organisation lives within our tribe, and that that person is a man, not a woman. They couldn't give me anything more specific than that."

"Half of the members of our tribe are men. It could be any of them. This is not proof that Shiyari is a traitor."

"There is nothing more I can do, Telas! I have questioned people as much as I can, I can learn nothing more because they know not why I question them. If they knew, then I would be able to ask more direct questions. Facts that they once thought trivial might come again to their minds as important information."

"Then we must tell them, and tell them that you are close to finding the culprit. Hopefully, that will scare whoever it is, and make them run. If anybody leaves the camp over the next few days, we can assume that they are guilty."

"Unless they have a 'valid' reason for leaving, like Shiyari!"

"Pardon me for intruding on your conversation," said Lucas, clearing his throat. "Might I make another suggestions? One that may result in the capture of this Eldreth agent?" He waited for Telas to nod. "Now, I am but a humble bard-" Duncan gave a snort of amusement, "-but I believe I have a plan. Am I right in assuming that there will be some sort of wake, a feast, for the departed, after the burial?"

"Yes, in the evening," said Telas. "We will spend the day cooking for the feast."

"Let us suppose for a moment that I am a member of Eldreth Veluuthra. Even if I didn't know that Loruar was going to attack Duncan, I know that the only other member of my organisation is dead. I also know that Shayla's friends are being escorted wherever they go, by a very select group of guards, including the leader of the tribe himself. I know that Loruar's funeral is, for some reason, being delayed, and that Shayla has been questioning people. I put two and two together, and assume that Loruar has been discovered. Now, I'm either worried, in which case I decide it is not worth my life, and leave, returning to my organisation, or I decide that Shayla is nowhere near to finding me, and that the chance to strike again at another of Shayla's friends is too good an opportunity to pass up. In this case, and this appears to be the situation in which we find ourselves, I am confident.

"Telas, tonight, you should make an announcement. Tell the people what happened between Duncan and Loruar. Tell them the reason you could not bury Loruar's body right away; that you needed to know if any other members of Eldreth were present here. Tell them that Shayla has investigated the matter, and that she is confident that Loruar was acting alone. Reassure them that there are no other members of Eldreth Veluuthra operating within your ranks. This will lull him in to a false sense of security. Now, suppose that tomorrow night, during the feast, one of us, your guests, wanders away from the group. I, being a member of Eldreth, see this as the perfect opportunity to strike. Here is a human, walking away from the safety of the tribe, and whilst everybody else is busy, I can kill that person and dispose of their body. Nobody will know what happened. They might assume that the person was taken by a wild animal, or wandered away and got lost."

"No, Lucas," say Shayla. "Absolutely not. It is far too dangerous for her."

"Her?" said Telas.

"Lucas intends to use Esmerelle as bait."

Esme tried to make herself smaller as all eyes turned towards her.

"She is the best choice," said Lucas. "If Eldreth Veluuthra truly hate humans and half-elves, then they may not go for Daeghun, Kiree or Belvar. Besides, both Daeghun and Belvar are accomplished warriors. Not easy targets, and halflings are nimble, hard to kill. Duncan has already been ambushed, once. He would never plausibly - at least, plausibly to a stranger who does not know him, and does not realise he lacks an ounce of common sense - wander away again, and even if he did, he would be on his guard. That leaves myself and Esmerelle. If you were going to pluck an apple from a tree, would you pick one that is old and wrinkled and on its way to being past its time, or would you pick a fresh, ripe apple, a far more tasty morsel?"

"I don't like this analogy," she said. "I don't want to be fruit."

"Regardless, you're still the best bait we have. As far as the folks here know, you're young, inexperienced, and have skills as a healer-"

"Lucas, no. Regardless of how much magic Esmerelle knows, she cannot defend herself against an Eldreth killer," said Shayla.

"And she need not. What I propose is that somebody else is waiting in the place where Esme walks to, ready to ambush the ambusher. We can capture the agent before he has time to strike."

"I will do it," said Haluar. "I can use the excuse of grief over my brother's death and treachery to leave the feast and return to my tent. From there, and can leave unnoticed and make haste to a hiding place. When Esmerelle sees me leave, she can give me a count of five hundred before slowly making her way towards where I hide, as if she is simply going for a stroll through the forest."

"And if the agent strikes before she reaches you?" Shayla demanded.

"I doubt they will. They will want to be far enough away from the camp before striking, and they will wait to see if she is being followed, as Duncan was. They will not make the same mistake as Loruar."

"Absolutely not. It is too dangerous."

"But Shayla-" Lucas began. An argument broke out, then, about whether or not the danger to her was too great. Shayla, Belvar, Kiree, Daeghun, Valear and Telas argued that it was. The others argued that the risks were acceptable. Nobody bothered to ask _her_ opinion, because clearly, she was just a child, incapable of making her own decision.

"Excuse me," she said aloud. And, when nobody heard her, "HEY!" That caught their attention, and they fell to silence, though Shayla and Lucas were scowling at each other. "Thank you all for your concern," she said. "But I'd like to go through with Lucas' plan. Any risk to my life is worth catching a member of Eldreth Veluuthra before he can harm somebody who is truly innocent and unknowing."

"Good, then it's settled," said Lucas, and she was glad he didn't try to rub salt into Shayla's wounds by gloating over getting his way.

"Are you sure about this, Esmerelle? I cannot guarantee your safety away from the camp. Not until all members of Eldreth Veluuthra had been driven from our forest," said Telas.

"I'm sure. I want to do it. It's like Lucas said. Anybody who sees me is likely to think me a young, defenceless woman. Easy pickings, right?" she asked, with a glance for Haluar. He didn't even look a tiny bit guilty for his earlier comments.

"Very well. Tonight, I will make the announcement. Kirsan, Valear, you two will go now and scout the area away from our camp. Look for a place where Haluar can hide, with Esmerelle in his sight. Then show them, and make sure she knows the way. By the grace of Tel'Seldarine, all of the bloodshed will be ended tomorrow night."


	18. Wheels in motion

Chapter 18.

Wheels in motion

"_Only a life lived for others is worth living."_ - Albert Einstein

o - o - o - o - o

"Esme, are you _sure_ you want to do this?" Duncan asked for the tenth time that evening. "It's going to be dangerous. You don't have to do it if you don't want. We can find somebody else."

"There _is_ nobody else," she replied for the tenth time. "And I _do_ want to do this, otherwise I wouldn't have gone along with it. I trust Lucas. His plan is sound. It will work."

"Esmerelle," said Haluar, poking his head inside the tent. "Valear and Kirsan have found a place for us. Come, and they will show us to it."

"I'll be fine," she said, patting Duncan's arm in reassurance.

She stepped out of the tent and into darkness that was illuminated only by firelight. Selûne and her Tears, and all of the stars, were hidden by clouds, though she doubted it would rain. Only a few elves were out tonight. Most were in their tents, preparing themselves for the burial at first light. She was glad there weren't many people around to see her leave. It made her task tomorrow all the safer.

"Your friend, Duncan, is clearly smitten with you," Haluar said.

She shrugged. She knew that he had more feelings for her than she did for him, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She simply hoped that it would never become a problem between them, and that Duncan would find somebody he could be happy with.

"Can I offer you a piece of advice?" he said.

"Sure."

"When you find a man who catches your eye, make him pursue you for two years before accepting his overtures. If he is still there after two years, you know he is worthy of you, and that he is worth the wait."

"Two years?" she goggled. "Is that how your people do things?"

"Yes."

"I hope your having to guard me isn't interfering too much with your own pursuits."

"I have not yet found anyone worth pursuing. Here are Valear and Kirsan."

Two bodies dropped silently from the trees above, landing with barely a sound, their bows strung in their hands and quivers of arrows at their sides. In their dark green and brown clothes, they were barely visible at the best of times. Now, they were almost completely invisible.

"Three years is better than two," said Valear. "Two is the bare minimum."

"If you're talking about the half-elf," said Kirsan, "make him wait for five."

"Can we just get on with this hiding place thing?" she asked, feeling her cheeks heat up. It was one thing to talk about men with Kiree, but quite another to do so with three people who were practically strangers.

"Not just yet. Come this way." He grabbed her sleeve and led her forward to a small clearing where three large rocks were stood leaning against each other. "Sit down, and wait."

"What am I waiting for?"

"You will see."

So she sat, and she waited, and listened to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. She hadn't asked Shayla what would happen if she turned out to be right, if Haluar turned out to be the agent of Eldreth Veluuthra. There was no point. Shayla was adamant that Shiyari was guilty, she was blind to all else.

"What will happen if nobody comes to attack me tomorrow night?" she asked.

"Then we must assume that Shayla is right, and that if Shiyari is gone with Malathema, then he is Eldreth," said Haluar. "I admit... it does make sense. He could have convinced Mala to return to Suldanessellar, using it as a convenient excuse to report back to Eldreth Veluuthra."

"Sense?" Kirsan scoffed. "It makes no sense. Mala has been planning to return there for months, and Shiyari could not have known that Shayla would return, much less with outlanders."

Just then, the wind picked up, blowing her hair into her face. As she fought to control her long tresses, the clearing became bathed in a silvery light. Looking up, she saw that the moon and the stars were out, the clouds now gone from the sky,

"Did Shayla do that?" she asked.

"Yes," said Valear. "She told us that human sight is not as effective as ours, in the darkness. She will do the same tomorrow, if the sky clouds over again."

She looked at the twins, and blinked in surprise. Both had tied their hair back, making their long ears more visible, and their faces were striped with black, running across their eyes and cheeks and foreheads. It made their green eyes seem all the more vivid.

"What did you do to your faces?"

"It is a charcoal and water paste. We're going hunting, after this," said Kirsan. "We left early in the afternoon, so people would think we had gone to find a stag for the feast. We will have to move swiftly, once we have shown you the place where you are to hide, if we are to hunt and make it back for dawn."

"Then let's be off," said Haluar. Compared to the twins, he looked plain, now, with his hazel eyes and lack of face paint.

"This is the first of your markers," said Valear, gesturing to the three rocks. "If you find them, you know you're on the right track."

They set off, moving through the forest, following something of a natural trail. Ferns were common, and the ground felt springy as she walked on it. In the near distance, she heard the sound of water gently lapping at a shore, and realised they were skirting around the lake where Duncan had been attacked. They came to another marker; a tree with a large knot in it that looked like an eye, and pressed on again. As they walked, she studied them. Though Haluar walked just behind her, strolling as she did with only his knife for a weapon, both Kirsan and Valear moved in a silent half-crouch with their bows ready to be drawn, as if they truly were hunting. Their attention was trained on the forest around them, and no sound escaped their notice. It was then she realised how dangerous these people were. They were hunters. They made no noise as they passed through the forest. They wore no metal and no jewelry that would give away their position in the moonlight. With their faces striped and their natural coloured clothing, they could blend into the trees in an instant, and in fact, when Kirsan skirted behind a bush, she actually failed to see him entirely, even though she knew he was still moving. The moon-shadows of the trees above hid them both perfectly. If they ever decided to hunt people, very little would stop them.

"Here we are," Valear said at last, stepping out of the tree line and onto a small shingle beach. It was a place, she realised, that the water of the lake had once covered, but it had now receded, leaving only the stones behind. In the middle of the beach was a fallen, partially decayed tree trunk, lying parallel with the shore line. "The perfect place to sit to look out over the lake as you await certain doom."

"And where am I to hide?" Haluar asked.

They moved away from the beach, back to the trees, and travelled towards a place where two trees had toppled, one falling onto the other, which in turn had fallen on top of its attacker. One trunk overlay the other, and ferns grew all around and beneath them. There was enough room behind for an elf, or perhaps two, to squat and look through the gap between the trunks, giving a perfect view of the shore.

"This will do."

"Glad to hear it," said Kirsan.

"We must leave now," Valear said. "Time to hunt. When you return, wipe away your trail."

"Thank you for that most helpful suggestion."

"We will return at dawn," said Kirsan. Then both twins stepped into the forest, disappearing entirely.

"Come," said Haluar, leading her back to the beach.

They went back exactly the way they had come, with Haluar wiping away their tracks with a leafy branch he broke from a tree. As they walked, she fixed the path in her mind, memorising the markers that the twins had pointed out to her. It took them longer to return than it had taken to reach the beach, because whenever Haluar wasn't satisfied with how well he'd hidden their tracks, he went back and did parts of it again, wiping away all signs that they had ever been out there.

"I will cut through a different part of the forest, to reach the hiding place," he said, "so that my tracks are not visible. We must not warn whoever it is that they are walking into a trap."

"You're very thorough."

"I have to be. Do you think you can remember the way to the beach?"

"Yes," she said confidently.

"If you're at all unsure, we can go again tomorrow-"

"I lived in the High Forest for five years. I can remember the way."

"Very well." He stopped on the edge of the camp, just outside of the firelight, and turned to face her. "Telas will make his speech, soon. After he does, I won't be guarding you anymore. We have to make it look like we believe you and your friends are in no danger. You will still be watched, wherever you go, but I don't know who will be watching. Telas will arrange shifts. Either way, I would recommend you don't leave the confines of the camp, unless you leave with Telas, Kirsan, Valear or myself. Do you understand?" She nodded. "When the time comes, I will need to be sure that whoever follows you is Eldreth Veluuthra, before I act. I will have to wait until he is upon the verge of striking."

"How long should I wait for?"

"Until morning. If nobody has come by then, we know they never will."

"I'm sorry you'll miss your brother's funeral feast for this."

"Don't be. I'm not. I couldn't eat anyway. I have no appetite since his death. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I said you are weak. You are not. Slow, maybe, but not weak."

"That gives me something to work on," she said with a smile.

"I won't let Eldreth Veluuthra harm you. I promise." He stalked away into the camp, and she watched him for a moment before following. His words sounded genuine enough... but she still couldn't bring herself to trust him entirely. There were too many doubts still niggling in her mind. Regardless of his words, she needed to prepare herself for defence tomorrow night. Just in case somebody did come. Just in case it was Haluar.

o - o - o - o - o

The moon was at its zenith when Telas called for everybody to attend him in the centre of the camp. He chose a hewn trunk used as a seat as a place to stand, to give him height over the crowd, so that all could see him, as well as hear him. Esme stood off to one side, between Daeghun and Belvar, with Kiree in front of her and Duncan and Lucas behind. Shayla stood beside Telas, to throw her weight behind his words if it should be necessary.

Looking out over the gathering people, she recognised a few familiar faces. Malathema was there, with Shiyari; now that Shayla's mother had stood down from leadership, she held the same ranking as any other member of the Wolfsbane tribe, and thus had no need or right to stand with Telas. Haluar was also there, standing further back in the crowd beside two older elves - his parents, she assumed - and a younger woman who bore enough resemblance to him to be his sister. She hadn't even known that he had a sister. Aleina was also out there; she hadn't seen the young elf since she'd been sent away on that first day in disgrace. It seemed like an eternity ago. Could it really only have been yesterday?

The faces of Kirsan and Valear were missing, but she knew they wouldn't return until dawn was near. By the sounds of it, they had a lot of ground to cover to hunt for the feast, and they wouldn't return without something worthy of the occasion. She wished she could have gone with them, to see what hunting was like, but she knew she'd only slow them down, and she'd never shot a bow in her life. She couldn't even use the mace that was stored inside her backpack. The only weapon she had that she could use was magic, and she doubted hunting with magic would be effective. She just hoped it would be good enough for defending herself.

When Telas started talking to the crowd, it was in elven, but Daeghun translated quietly for the benefit of Esme and everyone else in her group.

"My friends," Telas said. "I have asked you here because I have something to tell you. It is a confession, of sorts, and I would like you to hear me out before judging what has transpired. As all of you know, Loruar died last night. You are aware that he drowned whilst swimming in the lake. What you know is a lie borne of necessity. He did not die in the lake. Late last night, he came alone to the tent of Shayla's friends, who are here as our accepted guests, and told the half-elf, Duncan, that Shayla requested his presence.

"But he did not take Duncan to Shayla. Instead, he led him down to the lake, and attacked him." Despite Telas' request for them to hear him out, people started talking, some calling out that it was impossible, some asking why, whilst others talked amongst themselves. It took Telas many minutes to quiet them and continue. "Duncan was forced to kill Loruar in self defence."

"I don't believe it!" one elven man cried. "Not Loruar, he'd never do something like that!"

"I don't believe it either!" a woman backed him up.

"I always said he had a strange look in his eye ever since Shayla left with Daeghun," another woman said.

"Wouldn't put it past him to attack Daeghun's brother in revenge," said someone else.

"What proof do you have?" asked another. "The word of an outlander half-elf?"

"The deed was witnessed by my sons," said Telas.

"And where are they now, to speak the truth?"

"They are out hunting for Loruar's funeral feast, as you well know. I'm sure that once they return, they will be happy to answer any of your questions."

"I don't believe you!" a man called out. "Perhaps if you'd told us this as soon as Loruar had died, it would have been more plausible. But to delay telling us, to allow you time to come up with a cover story-"

"It is no cover story," Haluar interrupted him. "Loruar was Eldreth Veluuthra."

_That_ started even more arguments. Some people were crying now, Haluar's mother and sister included. Many of the elves looked angry, others horrified, and a few sickened. It wouldn't take much to turn the mood violent. Shayla stepped forward, raised her staff vertically to the sky, and a bolt of blue lightning shot out of it up into the air as the runes on her staff began to glow with power. Wind whipped at the elven woman's hair and cloak, though it touched nobody else around her, and the blue iris' of her eyes turned white. Those closest to her in the crowd backed away in fear.

"Look at you all," she said, her voice amplified and booming like thunder. "Squabbling like city-dwelling sun elves. Where is your respect, for yourselves, for your neighbours, and for your leader? What has happened whilst I have been gone, to cause my people to fall to pieces over words? This is not our way. We are not weak and given to bickering. Be quiet, and listen to what Telas has to tell you, and when he is finished, we will have an honest and open discussion. The alternative is to settle this with blood. Should anybody wish to do so, step forward now, and I will deal with you personally."

Nobody, it seemed, was willing to risk the wrath of an angry shaman. When nobody stepped forward, and the gathered elves looked sufficiently cowed, the wind touching Shayla abated and her eyes returned to their normal sapphire blue colour. She stepped back, and gestured graciously to Telas, as if nothing at all had just happened.

"My sons saw what had happened to Loruar and Duncan," Telas continued as Daeghun translated, "and they brought both Shayla and I to where it had happened. From the account given to us by Duncan, and my sons, we learnt that Loruar was a member of Eldreth Veluuthra. He had upon his person a sword of ancient elven craft, bearing the words 'let justice fall swiftly upon the unworthy'. We feared that there may be other members of Eldreth operating within our people, which is why we deceived you about Loruar's death. We needed time to investigate, to learn if any other members of that organisation are within our ranks. Shayla has searched, and she has found nothing. We are confident that Loruar was acting alone, and we believe that he simply saw killing Duncan as an opportunity that was too good to miss. We believe that he was initiated into their group at some point in the past, when he visited Suldanessellar, but we do not believe Eldreth has had the opportunity to subvert anybody else. Now that we are confident of this, we decided to tell you the truth, so that we can put it behind us, and bury Loruar with the proper funeral rites."

More arguments ensued, although they were subdued enough to be called discussions, and a lot of the arguers cast glances at Shayla from time to time. The topic of conversation now was whether or not Loruar _deserved_ a proper burial. Some said that he had been a traitor, and so was undeserving of an honourable funeral. Others claimed that Loruar had simply been misguided, or a victim of city-elf propaganda. Nobody came out and said that Loruar's actions were right, and that he should be buried as a hero, either because they did not hold such beliefs, or because they feared being accused of sympathising with Eldreth Veluuthra.

"Tomorrow," said Telas, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd, "at dawn, we will bury Loruar. He may have been Eldreth Veluuthra, but first he was of the Wolfsbane tribe of Sy'Tel'Quessir, and he will lie in the ground in peace with his ancestors. Tomorrow, after he has been buried, we will prepare for the Feast of Departure, as is customary. I understand if some of you do not wish to attend, and that is your right, but I believe that we can only move past this if we learn to forgive Loruar. I will be attending the feast, and so will Shayla. Together, we will say farewell to a brother of the Wolfsbane tribe."

The crowd took this as a sign that the gathering was over. Some people left, taking their young children with them, but others stayed behind, shooting questions at Telas and Shayla, or debating with each other.

"Come on," said Daeghun. "This is likely to go on for some time yet. We shall return to the tent, and try to rest."

o - o - o - o - o

Shayla watched Daeghun leading her friends back to their tent, and wished she could go with them. She had barely spent any time with them since their arrival at her people's camp, and now so much was being asked of them, especially of Esmerelle. But there was no chance of her escaping just yet; her mother had her by the arm in a grip of steel, and Telas' arm was in her other hand.

_:::You should have told me about this as soon as it happened!:::_ Mala said. _:::What were you thinking?:::_

_ :::That you were leaving, and once you are gone, we will not have you to rely on. We will have to work out our problems on our own,:::_ said Telas.

_:::You know I would have stayed, for this. Eldreth Veluuthra, amongst our people! I can't believe it! I shall accept your word, however, that you didn't tell me out of desire to weather your own trials... and not from some belief that I was aware of Loruar's true nature. Or that Shiyari might also be culpable,:::_ she said, with a glare for Shayla.

_:::I told nobody, Mala,:::_ Telas assured her. _:::I could not be seen to favour you above the rest of the people, not now that you have stepped down. Valear and Kirsan knew because they were witnesses. The only other person I brought in to the situation was Haluar, because he is Loruar's brother, and I needed his help in guarding Shayla's friends whilst Shayla herself investigated.:::_

_ :::It's strange you brought Haluar in to the situation,:::_ said Shiyari. _:::Eldreth Veluuthra are known to conscript mostly from within families of members. This should have made him your greatest suspect, but instead you chose to trust him. Why?:::_

_ :::Necessity,:::_ Shayla said. _:::And because I wanted to keep a close eye on him. I knew that if he were truly Eldreth Veluuthra, he would not be foolish enough to act so soon after Loruar's death.:::_

_ :::Mala, Shiyari,:::_ said Telas. _:::I must ask a favour of you. When you reach Suldanessellar, speak nothing of what has happened here. I want Loruar's superiors to believe he is still alive for as long as possible. If they discover he is dead, they may target somebody else within the tribe, or seek retribution against us for his death.:::_

_ :::Of course,:::_ said Shiyari. _:::Nobody will hear of it from us.:::_

_ :::Mala,::: _Shayla said, taking her mother's hand in hers, _:::please stay for the Feast of Departure tomorrow night. Please. I have never done funeral rites before, and the thought of doing them wrong, of saying something wrong, and sending Loruar's soul to a place it does not belong... it terrifies me. Please stay, and I will carry you to Suldanessellar on my back the day after if need be.:::_

_ :::I will stay for the feast,:::_ Mala sighed. _:::You will be the death of me, girl. Come, Shiyari. Let us unpack a few things, now that we have an extra day here. I must ready myself to help Shayla one last time.:::_

She watched her mother leave, with Shiyari walking beside her. She wasn't proud of what she'd just done, but it had been necessary.

_:::You still believe it is him, don't you?:::_ Telas said quietly.

_:::I'm more sure of it than ever. Did you see how he tried to cast aspersions upon Haluar? That is called 'misdirection'. Lucas does it very well with a coin. And now, Shiyari will have a chance to take our bait tomorrow night.:::_

_ :::Do you think he would be foolish enough to do that? He is not young, Shayla. He's almost as old as Mala. His role within Eldreth may simply be one of observation and recruitment, not direct action.:::_

_ :::Now you speak like you believe me.:::_

_ :::I don't know what to believe anymore. But once they have left for Suldanessellar, and once your friends have gone, I will move the clan up into the hills, on the far side of the lake. We have been in one place for too long. If we don't move soon, we'll risk being mistaken for our wood-elf cousins. And, whilst we're on the move, there will be less chance for trouble-making.:::_

She nodded and yawned. _:::That sounds like a wise idea. I see now why Malathema named you leader.:::_

_ :::You are exhausted. Go, rest, trance. You won't have another chance for some time, and you will need your strength for the tasks ahead of us tomorrow.:::_

_ :::Thank you, Osi'Tan. I will go and rest as you say.:::_

_ :::And I will deal with the thousand questions,:::_ he sighed. _:::By the end of this night, I fear my hair will be twice as grey.:::_

She didn't need telling twice, and hurried away from the group of questioners approaching her uncle. She went to her friends' tent and crept inside, glad to be away from the eyes and ears of her people. Inside, she found Belvar, Kiree and Duncan talking about the likely outcome of tomorrow night's trap, while Lucas puffed silently on his pipe of tobacco and Esme read one of her books about magic. Daeghun watched over them all silently, and her heart quieted at the sight of him. He was her strength, the only one capable of calming her when she was angry. She had sorely missed his company these past days and nights. Perhaps when the trap had been sprung and the agent of Eldreth captured, she would suggest a short journey away from the clan, for some privacy. Just the two of them, as it had been in the old days.

"Esme," she said, going to the young woman's side and sitting next to her. The girl closed her book, and Shayla studied her more closely. 'Girl', she thought of her, yet she was in actual fact a woman, nearly counting twenty years. By that age, many human women had married, or were engaged to be. Somehow, she doubted settled life would be Esmerelle's fate. "Esme, I won't be able to speak to you after tonight," she continued. "I will be busy throughout the day with the funeral rites, and it would not be appropriate of me to spend time with you at the Feast. But I would like to go over Lucas' plan one last time."

"I know the plan, Shayla," she sighed. "When I see Haluar leave the feast, I count to five hundred in my head. Then I slowly edge away from the camp, and leave without looking back or appearing suspicious. I walk casually, without haste, to the place that Valear and Kirsan showed me, and there I wait until dawn for somebody to show up. If the agent of Eldreth shows up, Haluar will apprehend him before he can strike. See?"

"There are a couple of things I would like to change. First, instead of watching for when Haluar leaves, I will come and find you when he goes. It will look suspicious if you spend the whole night watching and glancing at him. Therefore, you must not look at him any more that is natural. Stay close to Kiree and Belvar, and talk to them. I myself will stay close to Haluar, because it is customary for the shaman to comfort the family of the deceased. When Haluar has left, I will count to two hundred and fifty, then I will get myself a drink, and bring one for you also. When I give you the drink, you must count to two hundred and fifty also, and then leave. The drink will be your sign. Do not forgot."

"This is sounding unnecessarily complex."

"Just trust me, alright? The next change... when the member of Eldreth Veluuthra reveals himself, send a signal up into the sky for me to see. I fully expect the Eldreth agent to resist capture, forcing Haluar to fight him, in which case we must come to his aid with all haste."

"I can send a bolt of lightning into the sky. Will that suffice?"

"Yes, that will be an excellent signal," she smiled, thinking of her own lightning bolt earlier in the evening. "If things turn bad, if Haluar cannot stop the Eldreth agent, you must run. Run as fast as you can back to the camp."

"Perhaps I should be waiting with Haluar too," Duncan spoke up. "Just in case-"

"No," she said firmly. "You cannot be involved in this. Not a second time. It would seem suspicious to my people, and you could jeopardise the plan, and Esmerelle's life."

"You mean you think I'll mess it all up, like I mess everything else up?"

"She did not say that, Duncan," said Daeghun. "Do not sulk."

"I'm not sulking, I just don't think we should gamble Esme's life on one man. I can help. I know I can. Just give me a chance."

"The plan is made, Duncan. We cannot change it now. There is too much risk."

"_I'm_ too much of a risk, you mean," Duncan said angrily. He stood up and stomped out of the tent, and they heard his footfalls moving away.

"Perhaps we could arrange it so that Duncan can wait with Haluar-" Esme started to say.

"No, Esmerelle, absolutely not," Shayla said, putting her foot down. "You are not to involve him. You are not to show him the hiding place, or convey it to him in any way. In fact, speak nothing more of our plan to anybody. That goes for all of you. You are not to discuss it amongst yourselves anymore. Do you understand?" There was a quiet chorus of affirmation from everybody in the tent. "Good. Now, get some sleep, or at least rest your bodies if you can't rest your minds. We have a long day ahead of us."

o - o - o - o - o

The sky was still dark when Esme was woken by Shayla. She didn't remember falling asleep, only staring at the material of the tent for what seemed like an eternity, as images of what might possibly go wrong with their plan ran across her mind. Perhaps Shayla was wrong, and there was more than one member of Eldreth Veluuthra left. Perhaps Haluar was one of them. Perhaps whoever it was would target her from afar, by bow, never revealing himself. A thousand different variations of something going wrong played in her thoughts, until all she could think about was how much danger she was putting herself in.

"Time to wake up, Esme," said Shayla, shaking her gently to wakefulness. "You and the others won't have much of a part of play in the burial. You'll simply observe from a distance, but you should still be there. It is customary for all within a camp to be present for the burial of a departing soul, whether they are tribe members or not."

"I'm awake," she sighed. "I'll dress and be out shortly."

The elf smiled and left, and Esme sat up, to look around at the tent. Nobody else was there, and she suspected they'd allowed her to lie in later because of the part she had to play tonight. She was glad that she could get changed in peace, but she would have liked a little company, perhaps Kiree or Lucas to help take her mind off things.

But that could not be helped now, so she climbed out of her blankets and reached for her pack. Today she would wear the red dress, the one she associated with Lathander. Not because of the funeral, but because she wanted to look like bait. She didn't want to look like a strong, capable person today. She wanted to look like a young, innocent, defenceless woman, so she wore the dress, and she left her hair free to curl around her face and down her back, and hoped that she looked like an irresistible target for Eldreth Veluuthra.

The camp was quiet when she stepped out of the tent; most people had already begun to congregate at the place where Loruar would be buried, some distance back away from the lake. It was customary to bury people with their ancestors, in specially marked grave sites away from where the tribe might make camp. Though the elves did not fear death or the dead, they did not approve of the undead, and having a grave site too close to a camp might encourage the dead to rise again. Daeghun was waiting for her outside the tent, and he stood as she closed the flap behind her.

"Are you feeling well, Esmerelle?" he asked.

"Yes. Why, do I not look well?"

"You seem a little pale. I noticed you have not been eating as much since we arrived."

"I'm just nervous," she assured him.

"We will succeed. Have no fear."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one being bait for a human-killing organisation. But she simply nodded. There was no use worrying him over how worried she was. She followed him away from the camp, to where the burial was being held, glad that he was there, because in the dark, she would surely have gotten lost, or stumbled over tree roots.

When they reached the grave site, she looked around in awe at the people gathered there. Because there would be no hunting, no tracking, no fighting today, the people were dressed in their most casual clothes, which didn't amount to much. The men wore dark coloured trousers, decorated with patterns of beads, and their chests were left bare. Dark, swirling, permanent tattoos on their skin had been joined by fresher patterns in red - ochre, she hoped, not blood - which decorated their bodies and faces. The women tended to wear shorts, or long hide skirts, and sleeveless shirts, but they too had had their skins patterned with shapes and designs in red. All elves, whether male or female, and regardless of their age, had their hair adorned with long feathers and beads, whilst 'round their arms and necks they wore jewelry made out of shells, beads and bone, some carved with intricate patterns, some dyed different colours, some left natural.

Shayla was there, with her own tattoos augmented with red swirling shapes, until they covered almost her whole body. Her bear-skin cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, making her appear taller and broader than she really was. She caught sight of Haluar with his family, and could now see the rest of the tattoo that began at his neck and split at his shoulder, forming patterns across the right side of his back and chest. The right side of his face had also been painted with red designs, as intricate and beautiful as any others there. No weapons were present in the gathering, other than Shayla's staff. It was taboo, Daeghun informed them, to carry a weapon during the day and night of a burial, unless the tribe was under attack by an outside force. The only one exempt from that rule was the shaman, who needed her staff to perform certain rights, to speed the soul on its way and perform protection spells to make it more difficult for the body to ever rise again. This was a relief to her. It meant that whoever came after her wouldn't be able to bring a weapon with him... not one too large to be concealed, anyway.

She stood in silence beside Daeghun, Duncan, Kiree Belvar and Lucas, and watched as the ceremony began. It intrigued her, because she had always had a keen interest in religion and how people worshipped their gods, and this was a rare glimpse at how elves, at least wild elves, dealt with their dead. She knew she was privileged to be here, and to be allowed to participate in this. On the floor beside a deep grave that had been dug during the night by members of Loruar's family, the dead elf's body was laid out upon a hide that had been painted with geometric designs in red, blue and green. Beads and feathers were attached to the blanket on both sides, and Loruar's body had been washed and painted with red patterns, and then dressed in his hunting clothes.

She couldn't understand the words that were said during the burial rites, and this time, Daeghun did not translate. It would not have been right, to speak during the ceremony, and to speak another language would have been even worse. The rites were very strict, and had to be adhered to in order to ensure the soul left the body completely. She did understand, though, the grief that the people gathered there felt. Loruar's mother and sister clung to each other, crying onto each others' shoulders. Haluar's face was blank, and though his eyes rested on his brother's body, they were distant, as if he was gazing at something far away.

_We shouldn't have come here,_ she thought. _If we hadn't come, Loruar would still be alive._ But if they hadn't come, Eldreth Veluuthra would not have been exposed. They would have continued operating in the tribe undetected, possibly subverting even more of the people. It was a no-win situation.

As the sky above the tree-line began to lighten, Loruar's family members each picked up the blanket and, joined by Telas, lowered his body into the grave. The ends of the blanket were folded over him, and the handfuls of dirt sprinkled into the hole. Every tribe member passed the grave and said their goodbye's, stopping to take a handful of earth and sprinkle it over the body as Shayla held her glowing staff over the grave site and chanted. When every member of the tribe had passed the grave, Daeghun ushered their small group back to the campsite.

"Now it is up to Loruar's family to bury him in peace," he said.

Back at camp, the people of the tribe were not idle. They were working together to cook a feast. Two women were busy skinning and preparing the stag that Kirsan and Valear had brought back, whilst others peeled and chopped vegetables, and fires were stoked in preparation for baking hard cakes made out of nothing Esme recognised. The children were working to create floral wreaths, intricately woven so they wouldn't break when worn.

"Can we help?" she asked Daeghun, not wanting to partake in a feast that she had done nothing to help prepare.

"You can chop vegetables, if you like," he replied, leading her towards an empty place by a fire. One of the elves there gave her a knife and a piece of flat wood as a chopping board, and placed a basket of vegetables beside her. She spent most of the morning peeling, washing and cutting them, and when she ran out of vegetables, she switched to plucking birds and skinning rabbits that had been caught in traps. It was dull, monotonous work, but she found it helped to calm her, and helped her to keep her mind off nightfall.

Even though she was able to stall thoughts of night, she couldn't prevent night itself from arriving, and as the sky began to darken, her heart felt more and more heavy. By the time the sky was completely dark, and the torches around the campsite had been lit, her stomach felt like butterflies were flapping around inside it. She listened only half-heartedly to her friends as they talked, though she tried to make it look like she was engaging with them as much as possible. During the course of the night, she caught a glimpse or two of Haluar, but did not let her gaze linger on him for fear of drawing attention to herself. He never gave any indication that he saw her glance at him; Shayla and his family kept his attention most of the time, and whenever she saw him she wondered if he'd maybe changed his mind about the plan, if he'd decided not to go through with it.

She ate little of the feast she'd helped to prepare. Every time she tried to force food into her mouth, she struggled swallow. She knew the cause of her unease was her nerves, and she knew why. She never made plans. Always, in the past, she'd lived every day as it came. In the past, the closest she'd ever come to having a plan was leaving the High Forest, but had Shayla and the others not come along, she never would have gone through with it. Now, she not only had a plan, but people relying on her to carry it out accurately. She'd never had people relying on her before, not like this. It was incredibly nerve wracking.

"You look thirsty," Shayla said beside her, holding out a cup of water. She froze, staring at the cup. This was it. This was the signal. Haluar had been gone for a count of two hundred and fifty already.

"I am, thank you," she said, taking the cup and sipping the water as her heart hammered inside her chest. Shayla moved away without another word, and she began a mental count in her head. By the time she reached fifty, her head felt light and she felt dizzy. By one hundred, a sheen of perspiration was coating her forehead and the butterflies in her stomach were trying to rid her of everything she'd ever eaten. When she reached a hundred and fifty, she knew she wouldn't be able to take much more, and took a hold of herself. There was no reason for her to act like a scared child, as she had on the day she had fled the temple. There was nothing to be afraid of. Her friends were here. Haluar had promised he wouldn't let Eldreth Veluuthra harm her, and if he turned out to be Eldreth himself, she had a spell or two prepared to surprise him. Something more effective than making herself invisible. She just hoped she'd be able to conjure a bolt of lightning. Though she'd told Shayla she could do it, in truth, she had only read about it, and had never actually tried the spell herself.

When she reached two hundred and fifty, she squeezed Kiree's arm to let her know it was starting, and slowly moved away from the crowd, looking around as she walked, as if searching for somebody. She put her cup down on an empty log-seat, and strolled into the forest as casually and calmly as she could manage. The moon and the stars were her guide, casting their light upon the ground. Every so often she stopped to examine the trees and plants around her, so that anybody following would see her relaxed, and think she had come out here to look at the flora by moonlight. When she reached the three rocks, she sat down for a few moments, and looked up at the stars before moving off again. She passed the markers one by one. The tree with the knot in its trunk which looked like an eye. A rock that had a natural v-shaped cleft in it. A white stone at the base of a beech tree trunk. These and others she passed, walking for fifteen minutes at her own pace, until she finally came to the shingle beach.

She stopped on the outskirts at it, and purposely did not look towards the place where Haluar was hiding. For a long moment she looked out over the lake, then set off towards the fallen tree trunk, the stones shifting beneath her feet as she walked. A few paces away from the shoreline, she stopped and sat down on the tree, arranging her skirts around her so they were not creased. Then she looked out over the smooth surface of the lake reflecting the image of the sky, and took a deep breath. She watched as bats appeared, flitting through the sky as they caught moths and midges on the wing. She saw a pair of swans on the lake, their necks bent backwards and resting beneath their wings as they dozed on the water. Occasional ripples told where fish had come to the surface to snatch water beetles and flies.

She had no real way of telling the time, except by the movement of the stars in the skies. In her mind, she fixed in place one of the constellations above the treeline, and glanced back at it every now and again to see how far it had advanced. When a gust of wind blew across the lake, she shivered, and hugged her arms to her body. The red dress was all well and good, but she wished she'd thought of bringing a cloak. But that wouldn't have been feasible. She was supposed to have come out here spontaneously. A cloak would have seemed too planned.

It was some time, most of it spend shivering, before she heard the sound of footsteps on the stones behind her. The sky was still dark, not yet dawn, therefore it couldn't be Haluar come to get her. He'd told her she had to wait until dawn, after all. She resisted the urge to turn around. Whoever it was, it sounded like they were trying to be quiet. She had to give them time to strike. She had to give Haluar the chance to stop her aggressor.

"Excuse me... Esmerelle?" said a voice behind her. She turned, now, and looked at the elf who addressed her. He looked to be quite young, and like everybody else at the funeral and the feast, he was wearing feather and bead-adorned trousers, and his torso was bare save for the red painted designs. In the moonlight, it looked very much like blood.

"You startled me," she said, standing and smoothing her dress in what she hoped looked like nervousness. Not that she had to act much.

"I apologise," he said, his green eyes wide, his pupils appearing silver as they reflected the light of the moon. "Telas saw you leave the camp, and is worried for your safety. He asked me to bring you back to your friends."

This was it. He was Eldreth Veluuthra. Telas would never have sent a stranger to retrieve her, even if he hadn't been in on the plan. But she had to play along. So far, this elf had done nothing to threaten her. Nothing to indicate that he was of Eldreth Veluuthra. So she smiled at him.

"Thank you for your concern," she said. "And please, thank Telas for me. But I would like to sit out here a little longer. The evening is so calm and peaceful."

"But there are wild animals out here. As I came to find you, I heard a wolf pack nearby, and it sounded as if they'd made a fresh kill."

Her heart stopped in her chest. What if the wolves had killed Haluar? What if he wasn't behind the fallen trees, waiting to protect her? No, that was foolish. Haluar was alive and well. There probably weren't even any wolves. This man would say anything to get her to go with him.

"If they've made a fresh kill, I won't have to worry about them going hungry and looking at me as a meal," she said, folding her hands together in front of her.

"But if you don't return soon, your friends will worry. You don't want them to worry, do you?" he persisted.

She gave a quiet laugh. "Don't worry about my friends. They're used to me going off alone, sometimes for days at a time. I'm not really fond of crowds... they give me a headache. And it really is very peaceful out here."

"As you wish it, then," he replied. She watched him walk back to the trees, and took a deep breath. Why hadn't he attacked her? She'd been standing right here, as helpless as anything. Could he have been telling the truth? Was this some sort of message from Telas, asking her to return? Had they caught the real Eldreth member back in the camp? There was no way of knowing for sure. She had to believe that either something had spooked him into not attacking, or somebody else was Eldreth. The plan had to continue. She couldn't give up now. Not when she'd come so close.

She turned back to her observation of the lake, again forcing herself to avoid looking at the place where Haluar waited. Had he seen and heard what had just transpired? It obviously wasn't enough for him to act. He must want her to continue waiting. He said to wait until dawn. So she waited again, felt her pulse and breathing rate slowing back to normal now that her panic was over. As she waited, she hummed to herself Lucas' song, the one he had sung on the night they'd first met. He'd already forbidden her from singing in public and in his presence, because she couldn't carry a tune, but out here, it didn't matter.

When she was on her fifth run-through of the song, she heard noise behind her. It was the sound of stones shifting underfoot, and this time she _did_ turn. She saw the same elf - she thought she'd seen his face around the camp, but had never remembered him for anything in particular - only this time he was wearing a dark green and blue shirt, and he wore a dagger sheathed at his belt.

"Telas sent me to tell you that the feast is over now, and to ask you again to return," he said, holding out his hand to her.

"And again, I must disappoint you," she said, affecting her most casual smile. "I think I'd like to watch the stars sink below the horizon, and pray to Lathander as the sun rises."

"What will you pray for?" he asked, stepping closer. Now he was only half a dozen paces from her, and though his posture was relaxes, she had the strong urge to back away.

"For his blessing," she said. "And to thank him for another day."

The man moved as fast as a viper. His blade was out and he was stepping towards her in the blink of an eye. She leapt to her feet, putting the log between them, and as he sprang forward, leaping for her throat with his dagger, she held up her hand in front of her and closed her eyes.

"Lathander, grant me your protection," she said, and even through her lids she saw a white light spring forth between the elf and her body. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a pale, shimmering barrier in front of her. It was not a physical barrier; it had no form, no real substance. It was a simple barrier of faith, and as long as she did not attack or speak, it would protect her from harm. Again and again the elf slashed at her with his dagger, each thrust becoming more angry and frenzied as the one before it was turned aside. But where in the Nine Hells was Haluar?

She found out soon enough. She heard the sound of shifting stones again, this time from the forest on her right, and another figure appeared with a knife in his hand. He wore no shirt, and the moonlight gleamed over his body, highlighting the black tattoos and red paint which covered him. He walked calmly, seemingly unconcerned with the elf who was hacking away at her barrier. When he was a dozen paces from them, he stopped.

"Tirisar," he said, and the elf attacking her whirled on the spot, his dagger held defensively in front of him. "It is over, Tirisar. Hand over your weapon. Eldreth Veluuthra are not welcome in our lands. If you give up now, I will make sure Telas allows you to leave in peace."

"Peace?" the elf growled. "Peace? There will be no peace as long as scum like this walk through our forest. I will not fight you, Haluar. If you want to stop me, you'll have to kill me. What do you think that would do to our people? Another death, so soon after your brother? He wasn't misguided, Haluar. Your brother had the right of it. He saw the way of our future. You can be part of that future, just as Loruar had envisioned. You don't have to lie to me. You can't deny your feelings. You have little love for outlanders, and I have seen your face when you look at them. I have seen the disgust in your eyes as you look at this one. We can kill her together and feed her body to the wolves. They will find only her bones, and it will serve as a warning for other humans in future. Do this with me, Haluar. Complete the task that your brother died trying to accomplish."

_No, don't fall for it_! she thought desperately, as Haluar's face took on a speculative cast. She wanted to back away even more, now, to walk into the lake if she had to, but she forced herself to stand her ground and meet his eyes. As long as she didn't act or speak, she was safe. At least until her spell wore off.

"The others would know," Haluar said at last. "I was told to guard her tonight. We'd have to leave the forest. Our people."

"Then let us leave! We will return to Suldanessellar. Eldreth Veluuthra can arm us and give us allies. We can return and hunt humans on the fringe of the forest!"

"But who could we turn to, in Suldanessellar? I've heard that Eldreth Veluuthra are treated with suspicion and scorn, even there."

"They are, but we are backed by powerful people. Strong, influential people who will help us. Come with me. You can be initiated. You can be one of us."

"And if some accident were to befall you before we reach Suldanessellar? How would I make contact with them? I would be outcast, with no friends there, and forbidden from ever returning here to my family. I'm not sure the risk is worth it."

"It is, I can assure you. And I can tell you how to contact Eldreth Veluuthra. Kill the woman first, as proof of your dedication, and I will tell you how. Then we can go there together. But until you kill her, I will not trust you."

"Loruar... my brother... he truly believed this is the right course of action?"

"Yes. He believed. It was a cause that he lived and died for, just as I live and die for it. Just as you can too."

"Esmerelle," said Haluar, his face grim. "Lower your barrier. You cannot win. Not now. Lower it, and I promise you, I will make your death swift and as painless as I can."

"Just as you promised you'd not let Eldreth Veluuthra harm me?" she asked, her vision blurry with tears. Too late she realised that in speaking, she'd dismissed the protective barrier. The warm light departed the shore, leaving it bathed in cold silver moonlight once more. "I trusted you," she said, not trying to keep back the tears from falling. "I believed you."

"But I'm not Eldreth Veluuthra. Not yet. I'm sorry," he said, and stepped towards her. With one hand he grasped her hair, and turned her around so that his knife was across her neck. She closed her eyes as she heard Tirisar move closer to watch. She didn't want to see the gleam in his eyes. And as his grip on her hair tightened, she prayed to Lathander one last time.

* * *

A/N: I tried my hardest, but the story definitely isn't going to be finished by the end of June. I'd planned for it to be a short, 15 or so chapter recap about Esmerelle's life, a sort of prelude to Kail's story. But then Esmerelle, Shayla et al clamoured for some adventures of their own, and here I am, 18 chapters on and some grand plans in the works. I'm sorry if you were looking forward to Kail's Story sequel, because now you'll have to wait a little longer, but I'm not sorry if you're enjoying Life is a Circle, and hope you will continue to do so.


	19. Sweet Sorrow

Chapter 19.

Sweet Sorrow

"_Nature gave us one tongue and two ears so we could hear twice as much as we speak."_ - Epictetus

o - o - o - o - o

_Lord of the morning,_ she thought as Haluar's grip on her hair tightened. _Please-_

And then the knife was gone, accompanied by a scattering of stones and frenzied movement beside her. She opened her eyes and saw both men striking at each other and parrying with their blades. Tirisar was already bleeding from a gash across the front of his right shoulder which had cut clean through his shirt, and he snarled as he blocked another strike by Haluar. What had just happened? How had Haluar gone from killing her to attacking Tirisar, and why? Her mind was so numb that all she could do was stand there and watch as they circled each other like fighting wolves. That's what they were, she realised. Thinking, talking animals, capable of killing. They both held their small blades up, cutting-edge out.

"Move back towards the lake, Esmerelle," said Haluar, not taking his eyes from Tirisar's face. She did as he said, because as they circled, Tirisar was moving closer towards her.

"I should have known you wouldn't have the guts to go through with it," Tirisar hissed angrily. "You're a coward. You shame your brother with your weakness."

"Weakness, you call it, but my knife is bloodied, and yours is not," said Haluar, circling calmly with none of the younger elf's anger.

Tirisar struck again, so fast that she didn't think Haluar would be able to block it. But he did, and they fell to striking and blocking again. It was nothing like fighting in the tales she'd heard in Silverymoon. There was no bowing, no coats of arms, no valiant manoeuvres, no great sweeps of the sword. There was just the fast, frenzied slash of wickedly sharp knives, flashing in Selûne's light like silver minnows in a clear stream. Their breathing grew faster and louder, and when they stopped again to circle, she saw that both blades were red, now. Tirisar's green and blue shirt was growing darker in patches, and the moon gleaming off Haluar's skin shows gashes of red across his chest, and one across his right cheek, cutting through the ochre patterns. Both men were sweating with exertion; Tirisar's hair was damp, and Haluar's body glistened with moisture. Beneath them, the grey stones were flecked with red drops.

"Yield," Haluar replied. "You can't win this."

"Whether I kill the woman or die myself, I will have won," Tirisar said. "My death will feed the fires that burn in the hearts of our people. Who will they blame for my death? Some organisation that is hundreds of miles away? Or the humans here who drove me to act? And make no mistake, you will have to kill me, for I will never give in. Never! Are you prepared to kill me, Haluar? Are you prepared to kill a brother of your tribe?"

Tirisar struck again, and as they resumed their deadly dance, Esme finally remembered Shayla's words. She gestured towards the sky, spoke the words of the spell, and a bolt of lightning shot from the tips of her fingers out towards the dark of space. She hadn't meant it as a diversionary tactic, but that's what it ended up being. As the bolt flashed brightly like a silver serpent, Tirisar glanced at it. Haluar took the opportunity to step into the other man's guard and knock the dagger from his hand, striking him in the stomach with the hilt of his own knife. The wind was knocked out of Tirisar's lungs, and Haluar tackled him to the floor. But Tirisar was desperate, now. He fought with his fists and his knees, punching, trying to kick, even using his teeth when he had a chance. Haluar fought back just as hard, aiming for soft, easily-bruised areas, as well as nerve points. Soon, Tirisar's actions became more defensive as he wrapped his arms around his head and tried to curl his body, to make it smaller and less exposed. Haluar grabbed his own knife from the floor behind him, and raised it above his head, ready to plunge it into Tirisar's heart.

"Stop!" she shouted, stepping towards him. "Don't kill him!" For a moment the beach was a frozen tableau bathed in silver light; Tirisar whimpering on the ground in pain, his clothes dusty from rolling around on the stones; Haluar above him, panting with his knife held high, preparing to strike; and Esmerelle standing beside them both, one hand out-stretched towards the knife as if she could stop its descent by sheer force of will. For a few seconds, the gentle sound of the lake water lapping against the stones was the loudest thing to be heard.

"He was going to kill you," Haluar said, breathing hard.

"I know, but he didn't. I don't want anybody to die because of me. Not even somebody like him."

"If I don't kill him, he _will_ try to kill again. We have a name for people who kill women and children. _Vyshaan_," he growled.

"Please," she begged, "if I let you kill him, I'm no better than he is. Besides, he is somebody son, somebody's brother, just as Loruar was. If it was your brother beneath you now, would you kill him too? There are other ways. He can be kept prisoner, or we can take him to Silverymoon and have him incarcerated, where he can't hurt anybody."

"I would sooner die than spend my life in some stinking city gaol," Tirisar said hoarsely.

"There, you see? He wants to die," Haluar said.

"No," she insisted. "It's not my decision, and it's not yours. This affects not just me, not just you, but all of your people. Let them decide what is to be done with him. Perhaps they will become stronger because of it."

He took a deep breath, then lowered the knife and tossed it to one side. "You should teach Shayla what it means to be shaman," he said, sparing her a sideways glance. Then he stood and rolled Tirisar onto his front, where the younger elf would find it more difficult to strike back from, before straddling him again. "Fetch me the laces from his boots," he said.

She stepped towards the elf's legs, but he began kicking. Haluar pushed the side of his face into the sharp stones beneath him.

"Don't do that again," he said, as Tirisar cried in pain. It seemed to take the fight out of him. She was able to unlace his boots without any more trouble, and she handed the laces to Haluar, who proceeded to tie his prisoner's hands behind his back. Confident that Tirisar wasn't going anywhere, he stood, and looked around the beach, surveying the bloody knives and the red drops that stained the stones. "The others will be here soon."

"You're bleeding," she said, reaching towards him as she prepared to channel healing magic. But he caught her arm by the wrist before she could start. His grip wasn't painful, but it was definitely firm.

"Don't."

"But you're bleeding! Not badly enough to bleed to death, it's true, but if I don't heal you, you'll probably end up with scars."

"If I don't have scars, what proof will I have to show my grandchildren that I fought a member of the dreaded Eldreth Veluuthra and lived?" He released her arm and turned to look at Tirisar. "Albeit, one of their poorly trained, less competent members. Perhaps next I'll seek out one of their sun-elf warriors."

"Haluar, what happened? Why didn't you stop him from attacking me sooner? Why did you consider killing me and then change your mind?" she asked quietly.

"I'll explain once we get back to camp. I'll let you sew me up at the same time, if you like. Perhaps you'll consider it fitting punishment."

"Esmerelle!"

Shayla's voice ringing out from the trees was like music to her ears. The woman appeared a few seconds later, running along the beach with Daeghun, Telas, Duncan and Lucas, who seemed to have lost his limp, behind her. When the shaman saw Tirisar lying on the floor, beaten and bleeding, her delicate face paled. Telas, meanwhile, hurried forward, and stopped in front of Haluar.

"Did you-" he began.

"No," Haluar said, cutting him off. "But he is Eldreth Veluuthra."

"You left him alive," Daeghun said. It wasn't a question... but it was.

"I was going to kill him," he shrugged. "Esmerelle convinced me not to."

"What are we to do with him?" Shayla asked.

"That is for our people to decide. He's our problem."

"Yes, that does sound like something Esme would say. Oh, you're bleeding!" Shayla reached out towards him, but he stopped her as he had stopped Esme.

"Daeghun, Duncan, give me a hand with Tirisar," said Telas, starting to haul the young elf to his knees. "I don't think he'll be walking back at any speed. The rest of you, go on ahead."

"Absolutely not!" said Shayla. "I'm not letting him out of my sight. Besides, you may need me to heal the worst of his injuries. Was it really necessary to break his nose, Haluar?" The elf merely shrugged again. Apparently, he thought it was.

"Esme," said Lucas, "perhaps you and Haluar should go back to our tent. Kiree and Belvar are waiting for you. I get the feeling that as soon as we show up with this fellow, we're going to be the centre of attention for quite some time. You've both been through an ordeal. You should both go and get some rest."

"Another person who should teach Shayla what it means to be shaman," said Haluar. "How it is that you could have travelled all this time with these wise friends of yours and not had some of it rub off on you is beyond me."

"Just go," Shayla sighed.

Esme set off back towards the trees with Haluar in tow as everybody else began the arduous process of moving a heavily bleeding and bruised man without causing him too much pain. She smiled when she saw Lucas limping again. He would, of course, use any excuse to stay near Tirisar now. A tale about vanquishing Eldreth Veluuthra would probably be one of his main stock from now on... though hopefully not when elves were around.

"Come this way," Haluar said, stepping off the trail beneath the trees and into tall grass.

"Why can't we just go back the way I came?"

"Because this is the way _I_ came, directly from my tent to here. We'll be able to sneak back inside unnoticed. If I'm seen like this, I suspect there will be questions."

"We're not going to your tent, we're going to the tent where my friends are," she said firmly.

"You wanted an explanation for my behaviour tonight. My explanation will probably anger your friends, and I don't think I'm in any position to fight the dwarf in my current state. Besides, we can't enter your tent without being seen, it's in the middle of the camp."

He was, she realised with some chagrin, correct. She followed him through the forest, and hoped he was sure of his way, because away from her markers, she couldn't be sure of anything except her general direction. She fought back the sigh of relief that tried to escape her lips when she saw torches burning through the trees, and heard the murmuring of dozens of voices. There was even singing. A sad, slow song sung in elven. Haluar stopped to listen.

"What are they saying?" she asked eventually.

"It is a song to entreat the gods to take care of the spirit of the dead as if he were one of their own."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes. It is."

He moved off again, and as they approached the edge of the trees, he crouched down and gestured for her to be silent. She nodded, and watched too. Several elves passed by and entered tents, but it seemed the feast was still quite active. More than half of the people were still there, talking amongst themselves. He gestured for her to follow him and, in a half-crouch, skirted silently around the tents until he came to one and opened the flap, taking a lamp from the inside and lighting it with the nearby torch. Then he entered, and she followed. The inside of the tent was not that much different than the one she shared with her friends, except that animal hides hung from the ceiling of it, creating partitions. He stepped behind one of the partitions and lit more lamps there, and she glanced behind to see a sleeping area covered with furs, the walls decorated with colourful paintings of simple geometric designs.

"I have a needle and thread," he said. "But I'll need you to go out and fetch water from the trough." He gave her a wooden bowl. "Please try not to be seen leaving and entering my tent. I think my family has been subject to enough scandal for one lifetime."

She snatched the bowl and stopped on the verge of stalking out of the tent to peer around and make sure nobody was watching before she actually left. Would it kill him to be polite for once? It was _his_ suggestion to come back here, instead of going to her tent. She was patching up _his_ wounds... though granted, he'd only taken them protecting her in the first place. But he could at least say 'please' every now and again. When she reached the trough, she dipped the bowl in, filling it with water, then hurried back to the tent, hoping she'd remembered the right one to enter. Before she stepped inside, she had a vision of walking in on strangers. The result made her spill water on her dress, and she cursed silently under her breath.

Inside the tent, she found him measuring lengths of thread to equal sizes, cutting them off with his teeth. When he finished, he had four pieces lined up; three for the gashes he'd taken on his arms and chest, and one for the cut on his face.

"Do you have a cloth?" she asked, putting the water on the ground beside his furs. He tossed her what looked like an old scrap of absorbent animal hide, and lay down on his bed.

"You know," she said, wringing the cloth out several times, "this would be so much faster if you would just let me heal you."

"You are healing me."

"With magic, I mean."

"You are healing me with magic."

"No, I'm healing you with a few strands of thread and a sharp bit of metal. At least let me go and fetch some of my herbs and potions."

"A powerful sorcerer might use magical fire to quickly cook all of his food, but what is learnt from that? Magic is not waving your hand or channelling power from your god. Magic is doing things slowly, the hard way, when others would take the quick and easy route. You could wave your hand and make all of the injuries on my body go away as if they had never even happened, but the injuries on my soul would still be there. Sometimes, we need to see ourselves healing outside, to heal inside. And sometimes, the gods give you what you want, and you must pay the price they ask. I've lost my brother. You were almost killed, I could have died, and I nearly killed another man myself. But look at where we are. You are alive, I am alive, and the man I nearly killed is alive. I think the price I paid was cheap, and I don't want to walk the easy path."

"I think you could teach Shayla something about being shaman yourself," she smiled, pushing one of the threads through the needle's eye and setting it aside. "I can barely see your injuries amongst all of this red paint. I'm going to have to wash most of it off you, and cleanse the wounds before I sew them. Is that okay?"

He was silent for a moment, watching her. "Yes."

"Good." She dipped the cloth into the water one last time and wrung it out again before starting to removed the combination of blood and ochre from his face. He winced when she brushed the cut, but didn't complain. Perhaps the complaining would start once she started pushing a needle through his cheek. "What's the significance of the red paint, and all the patterns people make on their bodies with them?"

"I can't explain it in your language."

"I'm sure you could try."

"Once, long ago, when my people lost their homes and were forced to wander Faerûn, we lived in dangerous times. Even more dangerous than they are today. We often suffered many losses. Our people sometimes starved, or caught sickness, or were killed by savage beasts or other elves and humans. When one of our people died, we believed that we needed to help send the soul to its journey's end. We would cut patterns into our flesh, to signify our loss, believing a blood tribute would help the soul to find its way, and help the Seldarine to accept that soul into their ranks. Over time, the tradition waned, and when the first shamans began to emerge, they became our link to the gods and the spirits. We no longer needed to pay tribute in blood, but we still make patterns on our skin with the blood of the earth, and to signify our loss. We leave the patterns on our bodies for as long as we mourn. For some people, it is just hours or days. For others it is years. The act of removing the ochre is seen as something of a rebirth, a symbol that we are ready to move on, to accept our loss and continue with our lives. Often, close family members, such as mothers, fathers, siblings or mates, will help to remove the ochre from each others bodies, and this helps them to move forward past their loss together."

She stopped, her hand hovering over his shoulder where she was about to start removing more of the ochre. "You explained that pretty well. I'm sorry I have to take it off."

"Sometimes it is necessary to remove it, for bathing and the like. In situations like these, it is acceptable to reapply the paste afterwards. It never lasts for years on it's own, so it's often necessary to reapply it."

"Oh, good." She rinsed the cloth in the water and watched it turn red. As soon as the ochre was removed, she was going to need clean water. "Will you tell me about what happened tonight, now?"

"When you have started sewing my cuts, yes. If I tell you before, you might become angry with me and refuse to heal me."

"Fine," she sighed, and began washing off more of the ochre. "What's the significance of this?" she asked, running her fingertips across the dark tattoo that ran down his chest.

"Art."

"It doesn't have some sort of ritual or spiritual basis?"

"The tattoos of some people, like Shayla, do. Mine simply pleases me to look at."

"How vain."

"And why do you wear a dress such as that?"

"Be quiet," she replied, narrowing her eyes. She didn't like being made to swallow her own words, so she worked in silence, removing the paint from the rest of his upper body before throwing the dirty water way and fetching new. Then she began the less pleasant task of cleaning his wounds, though in truth they weren't that dirty. Some dirt had gotten clogged in them, from his rolling on the stones whilst trying to pin Tirisar, but she managed to get all of it out, though it caused the cuts to bleed more. Then she picked up the bent needle and ran it through the flame of a nearby lamp several times.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her burning the metal.

"Fire can cleanse better than water," she explained. "Before I go pushing this into your skin, I want to make sure it's clean. Ready?"

"I've been looking forward to this all night."

She snorted at his blatant use of sarcasm, and selected the worst of the cuts to work on first. It was a gash across his ribs, and was the length of her longest finger. She worked as quickly as possible, to minimise the amount of time he would spend in discomfort, and it was only as she sewed up his wounds that she realised how much worse the situation could have been. It would have taken only one deep thrust from Tirisar's dagger to pierce Haluar's lung, or sever his spine, or cut through his windpipe. Any one of these relatively superficial slashes could have been deep gashes. Even a slash to an artery or major vein could have made him bleed to death.

"What's wrong?" he said, and she realised that her hands were shaking.

"Just cold," she smiled wanly, cursing herself for being so foolish.

"There's a spare fur beneath my bed. Take it and wrap it around yourself."

"I'll be fine."

"I won't have you sticking needles in me with shaking hands. Take the fur, or I'll make you take it."

She did as he ordered, because there seemed no other way around it, then starting sewing up the second of the cuts to his body, this one just below his shoulder. She was quite pleased with what she'd done so far. She'd never actually sewn wounds before, at least, not on a humanoid. She'd practised on injured animals, like rabbits and foxes which sometimes got themselves hurt but Aggie had always put them to sleep first with a spell so they wouldn't flinch. She doubted that Haluar would care to be put asleep, and besides, she still needed an explanation from him.

"I owe you an apology," he said, as if reading her mind. She waited for him to continue. "After we made this plan, with all of your friends, and Telas and his sons, Telas came to me alone. He said it wasn't enough to simply capture or kill the other member of Eldreth Veluuthra. He wanted to know who the other members of Eldreth Veluuthra are, and who the contacts in Suldanessellar are. Between us, we made an addition to the plan. An addition we knew that none of your friends would stand for, because it would put you at terrible risk. Before apprehending the Eldreth member, I was to appear sympathetic to him, because of my brother, and try to convince him to give me the name of somebody, anybody, in Suldanessellar, who we could tie to the organisation."

"You should have told me about your plan! I wouldn't have backed out. I still would have gone through with it."

"I know you would. I don't doubt your courage," he smiled. "But unlike your friend Lucas, you are not very good at pretending to be something you are not. I needed your reactions... your fear, your sorrow, your tears, to be genuine. For deceiving you like that, I am sorry. But I had to try, and if I had to do it again, I would do it the same way."

"Then you're a better actor than I am. I truly thought he had swayed you. I thought... that you were going to kill me."

"I know you did. And I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I promised you I wouldn't let Eldreth Veluuthra harm you, and I kept my promise. Your spell, by the way, was very clever. It had Tirisar vexed."

"I'm glad you found it so amusing. I'm finished with the holes you tried to put in your body, now I have to sew the one on your cheek. It will probably hurt more than the others. I'd like to put you to sleep, or give you something for the pain, before I start."

"Thank you, but no. Just get it done."

"Alright," she said, and threaded the last strand onto the needle. He hissed in pain the first time she pushed it through his skin, but made no other sound after that. He kept his eyes closed, and she didn't blame him. Having somebody pointing a needle so close to your eyes couldn't be a pleasant experience. She worked as swiftly as she could, trying to make it as fast and painless as she could for him whilst keeping the stitches as neat as possible. When she was finally finished, she used a small pair of scissors to snip the ends from all the stitches she'd done, and sat back to survey her handiwork. He was definitely going to have scars, though probably not too noticeable, and they wouldn't make him look ugly. Fierce, perhaps, especially the one on his face, but he'd probably like the effect. "All done," she said, washing her hands in the water and drying them on a clean cloth. He sat up on his furs to look over the stitches, feeling the one on his cheek with his fingertips.

"Thank you. You've done a good job. Do you forgive me for making you upset, down on the beach?"

"I suppose so. I can understand why you did it, even if I don't approve of you not telling me."

He reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "Good. Then it would please me if you slept here tonight."

"W-What?" she stammered, feeling her heart miss several beats.

"Tomorrow, my brother's soul will have departed this world, and we will remove his furs and all of his personal effects from the tent. He will still be in our hearts and minds, but not in our lives. But tonight, his furs are still here, and empty. I've found it hard, trancing without my brother present. If you snore, it would be all the better."

"Sleeping in a dead man's bed... I don't think I could do that. It feels wrong."

"Then sleep in mine, and I will sleep in his. As you've seen from the amount of blood pouring out of me prior to your ministrations, I'm assuredly not dead."

"My friends will wonder where I am. They'll worry."

"I've already sent Tal'Thimae to tell Shayla where you are. She'll see to it that your friends don't worry."

"You know," she said, folding her arms across her chest, "Kiree warned me that most men will use any trick they can to get a woman in their bed."

"Trick? I offered you my brother's bed first, but you found it unsatisfactory."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then explain to me what you meant. Perhaps this is some sort of halfling-human-elf cultural misunderstanding," he said, subjecting her to a level gaze.

"You're toying with me again, aren't you?"

"Yes. You're getting better at spotting it. Suffice it to say, if I wanted you in my bed, you would already be in it. And, no offence, but you are human. Relationships between elves and shorter-lived species never truly work out. Your kind grow old and resentful of our youth. We have to suffer seeing those we care about age and die."

"I never should have left the city," she sighed. "Do you know what I'd be doing right now, if I was back there?"

"Dining with Elim. That, or wallowing in the corruption of civilisation. Maybe both at the same time."

"What?"

"Wallowing. It means-"

"How do you know about Elim?" she demanded.

"You and your friends were discussing him as I waited for Shayla in the tavern with the trees in the middle. The halfling was on the verge of making suggestions of what you should do with him. Personally, I'm sorry I never got to hear them. I'm sure I would have found them amusing."

"Then why don't you go and bloody well ask her!"

"Get some sleep," he said, crawling out of his bed and patting her shoulder as he passed. He took one of the lamps with him, and extinguished the rest. Then he disappeared into another screened off section of the tent, and she heard the unmistakable sound of him undressing. Well, if he thought she was going to do the same, he was terribly mistaken. Her dress was already dusty and creased, from when she had crouched down to remove Tirisar's laces. Sleeping in it wouldn't make much difference to its state.

The bed was still warm with the heat from his body when she crawled into it. She pulled the furs over herself, resting her head upon the thick pillow of soft hide. She closed her eyes, and wondered what was happening to Tirisar right now. Somehow, she doubted he had been given a warm bed to sleep in. But she didn't wonder for long. Soon she was drifting off to sleep, exhausted by the events of the night.

o - o - o - o - o

The camp fires were smoking as she crept out of Haluar's tent and returned to the one she shared with her friends. The feast couldn't have ended too long ago, judging by the heat of the coals in the dead fires, but she hadn't heard a single noise all night. It was the best night's sleep she'd had since leaving Aggie's cottage, and she felt rested and refreshed because of it.

When she reached the tent, she opened the flap and tiptoed inside it as quietly as she could, but it was in vain. Kiree, Duncan and Lucas were already awake and dressed. Belvar was snoring softly on his bed, and of Shayla and Daeghun there was no sign. When Kiree saw her, a wide grin lit the halfling's face.

"And whose bed were _you_ sleeping in last night?" she grinned.

"All that's important is that I slept in it alone," she replied coolly.

"Shame."

"Esmerelle," said Lucas, "Telas wasn't too happy that you didn't return last night. He wants you to give a full account today of what happened down by the lake."

"Of course," she said, and lowered herself down onto her cold blanket. It wasn't as comfortable as layers of furs to lie on, and she found herself grateful to Haluar for making her sleep in his bed. Her musings were interrupted by a hairbrush landing beside her.

"For someone who slept alone," said Kiree, "you sure have messy hair."

She blushed as she took the brush and began working the knots out of her hair. Kiree would probably never believe that she'd slept alone, but she didn't care. She knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.

Shayla arrived not long after to inform them that Tirisar had confessed to being Eldreth Veluuthra, but refused to tell them anything else, and went silent when asked for information regarding other members.

"I just don't think we'll ever get anything out of him," the elf sighed.

"What will happen to him?" Esme asked her.

"I don't know. It is too dangerous to let him go, but to keep him under guard for the rest of his life would be difficult. Telas told me, by the way, about his improvement on our plan. It was foolish and terribly dangerous, and I told him exactly that. And I will be having words with Haluar about it later, too."

"It's okay, he already apologised."

"All night?" Kiree asked innocently.

"Mala and Shiyari are leaving soon," Shayla said, ignoring the halfling's insinuations. "It is not a parting I am looking forward to."

"It must be difficult, saying goodbye to your mother."

"That will be the easy part. Apologising to Shiyari for mistrusting him all these years and believing he was Eldreth Veluuthra... it is that which will be hard. And tomorrow, we must leave."

"What? Tomorrow? Why so soon?"

"I came back here to say goodbye to my mother, but my journey must still continue. And Telas does not wish to waste any time in moving the tribe. After everything that has happened, he wants to take my people away from this site, where so much ill has occurred. Now, come out and get some breakfast. The feast went on late last night, and so did the discussions involving Tirisar. Most people won't be up for another few hours, so you can all dine in peace."

o - o - o - o - o

Outside the tent, as she sat around a smoking campfire with her friends, Esme picked at her breakfast. Not only wasn't she hungry, but at the far side of the camp, Telas was talking quietly with Haluar, Valear and Kirsan. The latter three were dressed in their hunting clothes, and carried their bows in their hands. She wished they'd hurry up and finish, because she wanted to tell Haluar that she'd be leaving tomorrow. She got her chance when Telas left, and the three turned towards the forest. She put down her plate and hurried towards them.

"Haluar!" she said, catching his attention. All three stopped and watched her approach.

"We'll go on ahead," said Valear. "Don't take too long to catch up." The twins entered the forest, and she waited for them to disappear from sight.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said. "I mean, we're leaving."

"I know," he replied. "Telas wants to move the tribe in three days. I have to go and scout out a new place for us to camp. Please come to my tent tonight, at sunset."

He didn't bother waiting for a response, but simply turned and entered the forest, following the path the twins had taken. What did he mean? Why did he want her to come to his tent? He'd already made it clear that he didn't want to share his bed with her. Or had he changed his mind? Should she go? She groaned as the butterflies from the night before returned to her stomach.

She spent much of the day wandering the forest near the camp, always under the watchful eye of a wild elf guard who remained far enough away to give her the illusion of privacy, but never actually let her out of sight, and spent her time picking herbs and flowers and digging up roots to replenish her stock of potion materials. She considered washing the red dress in the lake, but suspected the lake water might stain it, so simply stuffed it into the bottom of her pack to be dealt with the next time she found somewhere with a well and heated water.

She packed everything except her blanket and clothes for the morrow, then spent some time with the woefully neglected Blaze, who had been turned free to forage on the edge of the campsite under Shayla's assurance that the elves would not let the horses wander away, despite their misgivings about 'animal enslavement'. The horse seemed glad to see her, whinnying as she approached, and standing still as she brushed the animal with an old comb. Then she did the same with Lucas and Duncan's horses too, because it was something to do to keep her occupied.

By the time night fell she was actually feeling hungry. Deer meat and the vegetables left over from the night before had been cooked into a broth, and she had two bowls of it, and one of the hard flat pieces of bread that the elves seemed to like so much. Belvar seemed to like the bread too, and he had three pieces of it. When she asked him if he liked it because it tasted like, and was as hard as, rocks, he simply laughed. At sunset she excused herself, and walked through the camp to Haluar's tent, wondering if she was doing the right thing. But he _had_ said 'please'. It was probably the first time he'd ever used the word in his life.

"Haluar?" she called quietly when she was outside the tent.

"Yes, in here," he replied.

She entered, and made her way to his area of the tent, noting in passing that one of the partitions had been taken down, and a square imprint in the ground showed where another bed had once lain. So, Loruar's things had been taken from the tent, just as he'd said they would. She pushed aside the partition separating his bed from the rest of the tent, and found him sitting cross-legged on his furs. He was still wearing the clothes he'd gone out in, though his feet were bare.

"Sit," he said, nodding, and she lowered herself to the hide covering the ground, clasping her hands before her to stop them shaking with nerves. "Tomorrow," he said, "your memory of your journey through the forest to our camp will be wiped clean. Then you will be blindfolded, and escorted out of our lands."

"Oh," she said, because it was the only thing she could think of saying. "I won't have my memory erased of the whole time I was here, will I?"

"No, just your journey here. So that you cannot find us again. It is how we protect ourselves."

"So I won't see you again after tonight?"

"You will," he said, with a small smile. "I will be one of your escorts. I'll do my best to make sure you don't trip and break your neck whilst you can't see."

"Is that why you asked me here? To tell me this?"

"No. When a family member dies, it is customary to give away all of his personal effects. I want you to have this." He reached behind him for something, and held out a curved sword sheathed in a scabbard.

"I can't take that!" she gasped. "It's a weapon. You should keep it. You might have need of it."

"As I said, it's customary to give everything away. My family can't keep this."

"Then shouldn't you give it to Duncan? He's the one who was attacked with it."

"You may give it to Duncan if you want, but I am giving it to you." He put the sword down on the floor in front of her, shuffled forward, and lifted his arm to cup her face in his warm hand. "Your friends saw Loruar as nothing but a killer. To them, his death was necessity, and it did not affect them. You alone saw my brother as something more than a killer. You alone offered me kindness and sympathy, even when I did not want it or deserve it. So take the sword. If you have the desire, and can find someone to teach you, use it, and put it to good use. If you have no desire, then give it away to somebody who does. Or sell it; the blade is of fine quality, elven craft. Any good merchant will pay you a small fortune for it. Benefit from it or profit from it, but do not refuse it."

As he spoke, she felt tears filling her eyes. Nobody had ever given her such a gift before. The sword was worth more to her than the horse Lucas had given her and the clothes Kiree had bought for her combined. Not because it was valuable to her; it was not. In fact, it was useless. But it was the sentiment behind the gift that was worth more than anything. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You have a good heart, Esmerelle," he said, dropping his hand. He made no move to wipe away her tears. "The world needs more people like you. Don't let anybody change you. Now, take the sword, and go."

She did as he commanded, grabbing the sword and all but running out of the tent. When she reached a nearby fire, she put the sword down and squatted in front of it, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. It wasn't fair. How could she be happy and sad at the same time? The two were entirely different emotions. It shouldn't be possible to feel them both at once. And somehow, she doubted that she'd get an answer by praying for one.

o - o - o - o - o

The next day was spent in darkness. She found that being blindfolded made her hearing sharper. But she didn't worry about tripping; Haluar's hand on her arm was strong and sure, and Kiree, Lucas and Belvar were being guided too. Shayla and Daeghun had not had their memories wiped, and they were not blindfolded either. They were part of the Wolfsbane tribe, and the others were not.

For a full day they travelled, and whenever Shayla called for them to stop and rest, their blindfolds stayed on. Eating and drinking without sight felt strange, and she was glad she didn't have to suffer permanent blindness. She didn't think she could stand living in darkness all the time, never seeing Lathander's light. Being blind would drive her crazy, she decided. She could smell evening arrive, because the air around her smelt and tasted different. It was heavier, mulchier, somehow. When Shayla called for one final stop, she felt Haluar untie the knot that held her blindfold, and she blinked as her vision was restored. It was blurry, at first, and the light of the setting sun was bright to her eyes, but after a few moments things began to clear, and she could make out the shapes of the trees and the people around her.

"We'll go on a little further," Shayla said aloud. "And then make camp for the night."

"And we will return to the tribe and begin moving," said Telas. "Remember, Shayla, you are welcome to return at any time you wish. Unlike Mala, I will not demand that you know what it is to be shaman before you take your place amongst our people."

"Thank you, Osi'Tan," Shayla replied, embracing Telas in a hug. "It was good to see you and all of our people again. I hope to see you again soon."

"Farewell, cousin," said Valear. "Next time you return, give us warning time first." Kirsan added something in elven which made Valear and Shayla laugh.

"Come on," Shayla said to their group. "We have miles to go."

"Thank you for keeping your promise and not letting Eldreth Veluuthra harm me," Esme said, turning to Haluar.

"You're welcome," he smiled, then stepped towards her and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "When you die, ask your god to send you back as Sy'Tel'Quessir. I think you would be worth pursuing for two years."

He turned and disappeared into the forest on the heels of Telas, and Esme took a deep breath. In a way, she wished she could stay here, but she knew it would be counter-productive. Like in the High Forest, if she stayed, she knew she'd never leave. And right now, her friends were waiting for her.


	20. Cages

Chapter 20.

Cages

"_If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,_

_Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,_

_Or being hated, don't give way to hating,_

_And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:"_ - Rudyard Kipling

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning, the group stopped by a shallow stream to refill their water bottles and break fast. Shayla took out a map of the region and lay it down on the ground, weighting the corners down with stones.

"We're about here," she said, pointing to an area on the eastern edge of the Kryptgarden forest. Esme studied the parchment. It was the first time she'd seen a map of this area, and she hadn't realised just how far she'd travelled. Silverymoon wasn't even on the map; it went only to the western edge of the High Forest. "My people have provided us with enough food to see us well for many days, but I think we should find work sooner, rather than later. Though the air is still warm, winter is just around the corner. We have to be prepared."

"We should go here, first," said Lucas, gesturing to a point on the map that bore the name 'Red Larch'. "Then we can cut through the hills down into Secomber, and pick up some work there. What do you say to going all the way to Sundabar this time? Caravans travelling that far always pay well."

"Sounds good to me," said Duncan. "We... ah... won't be stopping in Silverymoon again?"

"Not for a while."

"Yep, sounds good."

"I've nothing against Sundabar," Kiree shrugged.

"Ugh," said Belvar. "I have kin there, but I'm sure I can avoid them if you're all determined to go."

"Don't you like your kin?" Esme asked.

"Oh, I like them just fine. They're not all that fond of me, though. Some of them think I like books and history too much. The wrong type of books and history, if you know what I mean."

"Not really, no."

"The sort of history that doesn't involve dwarves very much. They didn't see why I needed to leave to study history. The way they see it, we dwarves have more than enough history to be getting on with. They just don't understand that I'm interested in history no matter the people."

"We don't have to go to Sundabar if you don't want to, do we?"

"Ach, never you mind about me, I'll be fine. Sundabar is a good idea. We'll make a tidy sum doing a run up there."

"What's Sundabar like?"

"It was originally a dwarf-built fortress," Lucas said. "Over time, more and more humans began to settle there. Now humans are more numerous than dwarves, though not by far. The city itself is a bit smaller than Silverymoon, and less impressive. It has a large wall around it, and a moat, too."

"And Secomber?"

"A quaint little town. You'll see it for yourself in a few days."

She nodded, and asked no more questions. Secomber wasn't far from the temple of Lathander. In fact, it as a lot closer than she ever wanted to go, and she was worried that they might encounter knights or priests on their journey who might recognise her. Maybe she should change her appearance... perhaps cut her hair very short and pass herself off as a boy. She gave a mental laugh, and dismissed that idea immediately. She just didn't have the body for it.

As the others discussed potential problems on the trail to Secomber, she opened her pack and took out her water bottle, bending over the stream to refill it. The sun glinted off something shiny within her open bag; the hilt of the sword, she realised. Putting her bottle down, she took the sword out and lay it across her knees, running her fingers over the lacquered scabbard. It was curved to fit the blade perfectly, and she drew the sword out, holding it inexpertly in front of her, watching the play of the light over the metal. It was a beautiful weapon, as far as weapons went - not that she had much knowledge of them - and she wondered why Haluar hadn't given it to somebody amongst his tribe instead. She was sure Telas or one of his sons would have appreciated it. Was it because it had been touched by Eldreth Veluuthra? Did that make the sword undesirable to them?

"Hey, where did you get that?" Kiree asked.

Feeling guilty, she sheathed the sword and put it back into her pack. "Haluar gave it to me the night before we left."

"What do you plan to do with it?" Lucas asked.

"I'm not sure yet."

"It'd be worth a lot of money," Belvar said. "Not that I'm trying to tell you to sell it or anything. But if you do decide to get rid of it, I know a dwarf who deals in rare items such as that. He'll give you a pretty price indeed for it."

"I bet I could fence it for twice as much," said Kiree.

"Just don't come anywhere near me with it," said Duncan. "Once in my life is more than enough."

"You should feel honoured, Esmerelle," Shayla said. "Gifts like that are rarely given to anybody outside the clan."

"Say," Kiree said thoughtfully, "do you think you could teach me how to do what you do?"

"What do you mean, 'do what I do'?" she asked.

"You know, the whole innocence thing. I mean, this was your first real outing with us, and you've already got guys giving you stuff. Nobody ever gives me stuff. If they did, I wouldn't have to steal it."

"It is called 'being a genuine person', Kiree," Lucas admonished. "And it's one of the very few things that is almost impossible to fake. Trust me, I've tried."

"Excuse me, old man, but this is a _private_ conversation," the halfling said, all but dragging Esme to her feet and two dozen paces further down the river. "So, tell me how you do it!" Kiree insisted when they were out of the hearing range of everyone else.

"Do _what_?"

"Oh, come off it. You know what. You've been travelling with us for... what... a bit less than a month? Duncan would do absolutely anything just to see you smile at him. You've got Lucas wrapped around all of your fingers. A tenday ago, Haluar was the king of grouchiness and barely even deigned to talk to you, but now he's giving you gifts?"

"Duncan would do anything for you too, Kiree," she said, sitting down beside the stream. She picked up a stone and tossed it feebly into the water, listening to the gentle 'plop'.

"Yeah, but only because I'm his friend, not because he has any desire to please me."

"And Lucas would do anything you asked him too."

"Not _anything._ Most things, maybe."

"I don't know what to tell you. I just treat people how I want to be treated myself."

"Hmph. That sounds far too simple to be an effective con."

"That's because it's _not_ a con," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Bah! Forget it!" Kiree sighed in frustration. Then she smiled. "You know, we'll be passing through Silverymoon on the way to Sundabar. We'll probably stay there for a night. More than enough time to take a few tours of the city with a certain handsome young bartender."

"I think I'll have to let Elim down."

"Why? Isn't he good looking enough for you?"

"More than," she said, remembering Elim's face, and how warm his lips felt on hers. "But it's like Shayla said. I get the feeling I'm not hearing anything new from him. I could be just about anybody to him, really. Two weeks ago, I would have found the idea of dining and spending the evening with a worldly and handsome man from Silverymoon to be quite exciting. But a lot has happened these past two weeks, and most of it within the past few days. I mean, I was almost killed by a human-hating member of a secret organisation. I've been immersed in intrigue and mystery. How can dining and an evening of shallow, hedonistic pleasure compare to that?"

"Ah, you have what Lucas calls '_traveller's syndrome_'."

"What's that?"

"Ask him to tell you about it. And by the way, there's absolutely nothing wrong with shallow, hedonistic pleasure. You should give it a try some time."

"Come on," she said, throwing one last stone into the stream before standing and brushing the dust off her pants. "Let's get back to the others. I'm sure they're eager to get back to civilisation."

o - o - o - o - o

"Lucas?" said Esme as they rode towards Red Larch the next morning. "What's traveller's syndrome?"

"Ah, a terrible thing to suffer from," he replied. "You see, before you start travelling, your home is this great big thing. It is your entire world. But when you leave it, you see new things, and your home seems small by comparison. The more you travel, the more you see, and the less impressed you become with the smaller things. Soon, what once would have amazed and astounded you now seems mundane by comparison to the wonders you have seen. You find yourself travelling merely to seek out some new thrill, something that surpasses your expectations. But you never quite find it."

"Is that why you've travelled for so long?"

"Yes, exactly. Alas, I fear I'm doomed to wander forever."

"Have you never thought of settling down somewhere? One of the big cities, maybe?"

"I'm not really the settling down type, I'm afraid. Not at my age, anyway. Twenty years ago, if I could have found myself nice comely lass to look after me, I might have given it a try. But it's too late for that now. The best I can hope for is a warm fireside in the winter and an appreciative audience. And here we are. Red Larch."

He gestured ahead, and she saw a small collection of houses on the open plain, clustered around the meeting point of three roads - though in truth, one of them was little more than a dirt trail. The colour of the houses was dull grey and yellow, and their roofs were a combination of tile and thatch. There wasn't a single tower, spire or minaret amongst them. No marble statues, no beautiful fountains, not even an area given over to pleasant gardens.

"Quaint indeed," she remarked.

"It's nothing more than a stopping place, really," he explained. "Only a few hundred people live here. They do a bit of trade with passing caravans, but it's mostly farming. We haven't been here since last year, and I doubt very much has changed. Change comes slowly to places like Red Larch. We're only staying for one night, thank Tymora."

"Do they have any inns?"

"Yes, a couple. We'll most likely stay at The Swinging Sword."

"Does it have a bath?"

"Yes, but it's outdoors."

"Right now, as long as I could heat some water, I couldn't care if it was in the centre of the town."

Lucas chuckled, and they kicked their horses forward to catch up with the rest of the group. As they neared the town, Esme studied it carefully. It was the first real town she had seen. Everlund didn't count, because it was more like a city, with its walled defences and organized political structure. They hadn't encountered any towns between Silverymoon and the Kryptgarden Forest because Haluar had skirted around them, refusing to even consider staying in them.

They passed along the edges of fields given over to the growing of crops. She saw what she assumed was wheat, barley and rye, along with rows and rows of vegetables planted neatly in fields. Several green fields had been set aside for pasture, and had cows, sheep and horses grazing in them. She almost fell out of her saddle when she saw something that looked like a cross between a sheep and a pony, until Lucas, with an amused twinkle in his eye, told her it was called a 'llama', and that they were used as sentries for sheep herds; they were taller, more ferocious, and had better sight than sheep, and could see predators approaching, warning the flock when danger grew near. She also saw plenty of large sheep dogs; white, fluffy animals which looked similar to their charges and had been raised amongst the sheep to protect them from wolves and foxes.

When the first of the houses drew near, she saw pale pink curtains hanging in the window, and a woman sweeping dust from the doorstep out onto the road. Two children chased each other with buckets of water, threatening to splash each other, and she smiled. This was the childhood she had never had. Hers had been a youth of study and contemplation - although Ali had surely tried to liven it up as much as possible - and though she'd had friends, she'd never had the chance to simply be childish.

As she passed the children, watching them, she compared them mentally to the children she'd seen amongst the wild elves. The youngsters laughed easily and played with few cares in the world. They both wore plain clothing; the girl's hair was tied back out of her face, and the boy's hair had been cut short. In comparison, the youngsters amongst the wild elves had been much warier, and the games they played were less benign. The played at stalking and hunting, not unlike lion cubs, to prepare them for their dangerous, nomadic life. They'd dressed in the style and colours of their elders, the better to help them disappear into the forest and move through it unimpeded.

The faint smell of smoke interrupted her musings, and she sniffed the air. It didn't smell all that different to the regular smell of wood fires, but there was something else there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Ahead of her, she noticed Daeghun was sniffing the air also, and she nudged Blaze forward to walk beside him.

"Daeghun, what's that smell?" she asked, leaning down as far as she dared from the saddle.

"Several things," he said, seemingly unconcerned. "Paint, alcohol, flesh, and some sort of material... perhaps wool, or silk. It's not a fresh smell, but it lingers in the air."

"Trouble?" Lucas asked. "Should we press on to Secomber?"

"No, I don't think so. The smell is fading. Perhaps a barn caught fire... the weather has been unseasonably warm, after all. It should be safe enough now, I think."

The elf strode forward and caught up with Shayla and Belvar, at the front of the group. Lucas had taken to studying the people he passed as if suspicious of them, and Kiree, riding on the back of Duncan's horse, was busy telling the half-elf exactly how she was going to spend her money when they reached Sundabar.

"Come on," Shayla called, gesturing for the mounted folk to catch up with her, "The Swinging Sword isn't far."

As they stepped out into the town square, Esme was about to spur Blaze on to a trot, when the sunlight gleaming off metal caught her eye. Turning her head and shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she saw a large, metal cage supported by a heavy stand. It was round, so as to give it no corners, and in the middle of it sat a man. She halted Blaze immediately, pulling back on the horse's reins harder than she meant to, and stared at the man in the cage.

His skin was as dark as night, which contrasted sharply with his silver hair bound back behind his head. His clothes were likewise dark; blacks and browns, interspersed with silver trappings. His face was sharp and delicate, reminding her of Shayla, Daeghun and Haluar. His skin was littered with cuts, red blood staining his hair in places. Swarms of flies buzzed around the cage, settling on his open wounds. He seemed to sense her watching him. He opened his eyes, and she saw that his iris' were as red as blood. He made no move to swat the flies away or shelter his skin from the hot sunlight. All he did was watch her impassively, as if he were already dead.

After what felt like an eternity of being watched, she turned Blaze and kicked him on, catching up with the group.

"Shayla, there's a man in a cage!" she said.

"That's not a man, it's a drow," the elf said casually. "Which explains the smell. It was probably part of a raiding party and got caught. Not bad, for a small town like Red Larch."

"But he's hurt," she insisted.

Shayla stopped to look up at her. "Good. It's what it deserves. That drow is none of your concern, Esme. Leave it be."

"But-"

"I said leave it. I will have no drow sympathisers around me. Am I clear?"

"Yes," she sulked.

"Good. Now, come on. The inn is right over here. I'm sure we're all looking forward to a bath and a hot meal."

After stabling the horses they entered the inn together. It was nowhere near as impressive as Treant's Hall. It was a dark, musty place that smelt strongly of damp and tobacco. It was a place Lucas would have described as having 'rustic character', but it just made Esme want to sneeze a lot. And the innkeeper-cum-bartender wasn't much more appealing than the building; he was tall, heavily built, with greasy, thinning grey hair. Though his hands were clean, his apron was splattered with stains so that it resembled something more akin to artwork than protective wear.

"Fair morning," said Lucas to the innkeeper, apparently relegated to being the group leader in this dingy place. "Might I enquire as to the status of your rooms?"

"They're clean. Three silver each night for each room. Breakfast is extra," the man grunted.

"I'd like four rooms then, please."

The innkeeper raised his fist and brought it down heavily on the bar. Esme jumped in fright, and wondered what had made him react so violently. But when the man's hand came up with the squashed remnants of a roach stuck to it, she shuddered.

"I've got three," he said.

"That's okay," said Duncan, eyeing the twitching remains of the roach. "I was planning on sleeping in the stables. Smell of fresh hay, reminds me of my youth, y'know? I was actually raised in a barn myself, so the horse smell doesn't bother me."

"Barn's one silver a night. You be wanting lunch and dinner as well?"

"No, thank you," Lucas said. "We have friends here in town who've already invited us to dine with them. We simply need the rooms."

The innkeeper rummaged under the bar and came up with three keys. Shayla took one from him, and Kiree another, which left the last for Lucas, to share with Belvar. When Lucas had payed the man ten silvers, they all filed upstairs, except Duncan, who went outside to the stable. Esme half wished she could go with him.

"I didn't know you had friends here, Lucas," she said as she followed Kiree up the creaky stairs.

"I don't, but there are much cleaner places than this to eat."

Kiree opened the door to the room, and stared at it for a moment. "And cleaner places to sleep, too," she said. "Is it too late to push on to Secomber? Or to go back to the Kryptgarden Forest? Sure, the wild elves lived in and slept on the furs of dead animals, but at least they were _clean_ dead animals. Did I mention how warm and welcoming your kin were, Shayla? Please?"

"It is just for one night," Shayla said. "You will survive."

"First dibs on the bath!" said Kiree.

"And I will go second," Shayla added. "Esme, do you wish to go third?"

"No... I think I'll just go and sit in the common room and soak up some of the local culture," she said. Everybody looked at her as if she was crazy. "I've not seen many places like this before. I'd like to sit and listen to the people talking."

"And, presumably, the roaches talking," Belvar added.

"That too. Kiree, would you please take my bag into our room? I'm not even going to bother unpacking."

"Sure thing," said the halfling, accepting her pack.

"Oh, and could I have a few coppers? I'd like to get a nice cold drink."

"What, from _here_?"

"I'm thirsty, and tired of water."

"Alright, here you go. But if you get poisoning, it's on your head," Kiree grumbled, passing her a handful of copper coins.

As everybody began settling into their rooms, Esme ran down the stairs two at a time and made her way to the bar, taking a seat on a high stool. She'd never actually ordered drinks before, but she'd seen Duncan and Lucas doing it. It didn't look so hard.

"Ale, please," she said to the innkeeper, dumping half the coins on the bar. He looked at them, counted some out, then pulled a pint of something yellow and watery from the cask behind the bar. She took a sip, forcing herself to swallow it. "Mmm," she said to his scrutinising gaze. "I can honestly say that's the best ale I've had since leaving Silverymoon." Technically a truth; it was the _only_ ale she'd had since leaving Silverymoon.

"Brewed right here in my cellar," the innkeeper said.

"Really? I would never have guessed. It tastes like something worthy of Waterdeep. Speaking of which, what's the story behind the man in the cage?"

"The drow?" he asked, spitting into a bucket on the floor behind the bar. She tried not to cringe. "Caught him and some of his friends trying to torch the town. Killed the rest of 'em. They died fighting like savage beasts. That one surrendered without even drawing his sword."

"If he surrendered without drawing his sword, why is he bleeding as if he's fought in a war?"

"Well, we couldn't let him get away with murdering and pillaging, could we? Had to teach him a lesson. The kids used to throw stones at him, but they gave up because he didn't try to hide from it. Just sat there and let them throw stones without barely blinking an eye. Now that is a cold-hearted creature."

"How long ago was this?"

"Three nights."

"And he's been in there, bleeding like that, since then?"

"Aye."

"Has he had food or water?"

"Well, it rained the day before yesterday. I suppose you could call that water."

"Why do you think he surrendered when the others fought to the death?"

"Only the gods know what's in the mind of drow killers like that. Probably thought we'd go lenient on him if he gave up. Tell you something, we're lucky they didn't do more damage than they did. If it hadn't been for the knights-"

"Knights? What knights?" she asked, feeling her heart constrict tightly in her chest.

"Knights-errant. The Everwatch Knights, in service to Helm. They've been staying here the past few days, and it was them who slew the drow, whilst we captured this one."

"What are the knights doing here?"

"I don't know. Being knights, mostly. Saving us lowly peasant folk. You know how it is. Go ask them yourself, if you like. They're at The Helm at Highsun, drinking their way through the town, telling the merchants, townsfolk, and anyone who'll listen the tales of how they killed the savage drow."

"How long do you intend to keep the drow in the cage?"

"Til he's dead. Myself, I think he'll last another two days. They're tough, them drow. Don't much like the sunlight, though."

"Why hasn't anybody tended his wounds, or given him something to eat and drink?"

"Now you listen here, young Miss," said the innkeeper with a deep frown. "Them drow are violent, bloodthirsty creatures with no care for the sanctity of life. Do you know what they do, when they come to the surface? They kill innocent people. They murder men like me for breakfast. For lunch they rape women, and put the whole family to the torch for dinner. Come supper time they're back underground, celebrating with their dark heathen rituals. They showed us no mercy, and we'll show them no mercy either."

"Well said, barkeep," said Shayla, descending the stairs with everyone else behind her. "Why you don't simply end the miserable beast's existence is beyond my ken. Come along, Esmerelle, our friends are waiting for us for lunch."

"But I haven't finished my ale," she said, holding up the mostly-full glass.

"We'll get you new ale."

She offered no more protests, because Shayla all but dragged her from the room by her arm, whilst Daeghun followed with a blank expression, and Lucas, Kiree and Belvar looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"What do you think you are doing?" Shayla hissed. "If you are accused by the townsfolk of being a drow sympathiser, we will _not_ be able to protect you."

"I don't need your protection," she countered. "And I'm not a drow sympathiser, I sympathise with anybody who is in pain regardless of what they've done. There's no need for suffering. Death, yes; even Lathander counsels no quarter for the evil, but that man is dying slowly and painfully. He doesn't deserve that. Nobody does."

"Esme," said Shayla, "you have a warm, compassionate soul. I understand that. You hate to see somebody suffer. You feel the need to make it right. That is an admirable quality. But the drow is none of our concern. He tried to kill these people. He is their prisoner, not ours. They will mete out justice as they see fit. Who are we to come here and start telling them how to treat their prisoners? We have no jurisdiction here, and whilst I appreciate that you don't want to see the drow suffer, you cannot appeal to the hearts of the people on this matter. Justice is in their eyes, and to thwart that would have a negative effect on them. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she sighed, though she didn't understand at all. All she understood was that the drow must be in terrible pain. She had never gone so long without food and water herself. She could only imagine how weak he felt. And his injuries... they alone were bad enough, but the flies were worse. Flies spread diseases, and they would lay their eggs in flesh. If dehydration didn't kill the drow, a slow death by infection was what awaited him.

"Did I miss something?" Duncan asked, appearing cautiously from the stable.

"No," said Shayla. "We were about to go and get lunch."

"Can we go to The Helm at Highsun?" Esme asked. "The innkeeper recommended it to me."

"It's as good a place as any, in a town like this," Lucas said with a shrug.

The Helm at Highsun was tucked away behind a group of houses on the opposite side of the square, which meant they had to pass by the drow's cage in the centre of town to get there. Esme observed him again as they passed, though she did so as overtly as possible so as not to raise Shayla's ire. The flies were still swarming as bad as ever; the dark elf's skin seemed to be crawling with them. His eyes were once again closed, and he didn't even look up as they passed by. She wondered how close to death he was.

They entered the tavern and found it cleaner than The Swinging Sword. Duncan's mood immediately perked up, as did Kiree's, and they all ordered food at the bar before taking a seat not far from the unlit fire. In the corner of the room, a group of armour-clad men were surrounded by townsfolk; many of them women, and making a good attempt at swooning. She didn't need to be told that these men were knights. She'd grown up around knights. Sir Eldon himself was a battle-priest; a knight, first and foremost, trained in arms because during the Time of Troubles, priests had been unable to channel magic unless in close proximity to their gods; and raised to full priesthood after that time. She could tell, just by looking at their calm demeanour that these men were knights, though she'd never met any knights in service to Helm before. She knew little of Helm, save that he was considered a guardian and defender of the defenceless, and that his priests put duty and honour before all else. One of the priests in the temple had told her, during a class, that although Helm and all of his followers sought to protect life, they did not hold the zeal for creating new life, and making great works of art and beauty, that followers of Lathander did. Laws and rules were not enough to define life, he had said. There also needed to be freedom and creativity.

Lucas and Daeghun began speaking quietly about organising provisions for the next day, and Esme turned her attention to the knights. It seemed she'd entered half-way through their tale, because one knight was in the middle of describing how he'd managed to kill two drow single-handed.

"What were the drow doing when you killed them?" she asked aloud. All of the knights and their devoted fans, as well as everybody in her own group, stopped to look at her. She refused to squirm under all of the attention, keeping her back straight and her gaze calm.

"Well," said the knight; he wasn't young, she noticed, but not old, either. Probably about thirty. "Another fan, is it? When we caught the drow, they were setting fire to Master Miller's barn. Caught one of them with the firebrand still in his hand. One more we caught with him, and three inside the Miller's house. They'd killed his son and daughter before we could stop them. Master Miller and his wife would have been next, had we not arrived in the nick of time."

"And the drow in the cage? What was he doing?"

"From what the villagers who caught him say," another knight spoke up, "he too was playing with fire. Lighting up an old, wheel-less cart, as I understand it. A shame they thought of taking him prisoner instead of killing him outright. It would have saved the effort of putting up the cage. All it does is attract flies. Most unhygienic."

"Why was he burning an old cart, instead of a house?"

"Because, milady, the drow are cunning, like a fox or a wolf, but otherwise ignorant and stupid. To them, anything on the surface is a viable target and worth burning whether it is a house, a barn, a temple, or a forest."

"And why do you suppose he surrendered, instead of fighting?"

"He saw his kin dead and hoped the townsfolk would be lenient, most likely. Perhaps they would have been, too, but the Millers are a respected family, and their children well-liked."

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, before she could ask another question. "Our food has arrived. Please cease your questioning. I do not care for such unpleasant topics of conversation whilst I eat."

She decided not to push her luck, and instead of asking more questions, she fell back to listening to the knights as she ate. They spoke of little that interested her. She didn't care for tales of their valiant heroism, especially not in as much detail as they gave it. Why did they have to keep talking about it, bragging about it? Haluar had won a fight against Eldreth Veluuthra, and _he_ hadn't bragged about it after. He hadn't even been wearing armour and carrying a sword, like the knights were. All he'd had was a knife. She wondered if these knights would be so confident without their shining exteriors and long weapons.

When nobody was paying her much attention, she picked up an apple from the plate of fruit that had been brought to the table, and pretended to bite into it. She faked chewing as she lowered it below the table and slipped it into her pocket.

"Where is the out-house?" she asked during a lapse in conversation.

"Around the back somewhere," Lucas said.

"Want me to come with you?" Kiree asked.

"Please, I've had enough of people following me to the pits for one lifetime," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Don't take too long," Duncan said. "There'll be pudding soon."

She smiled, and enquired with the bartender about the back door. When he pointed it out to her, she left by it and then ran through dirty alleyways until she came to the main square. She approached the drow's cage with her hands in her pocket, and stopped a couple of feet away. As she approached, most of the flies took to the air and swarmed above the cage, waiting for the intruder to leave. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody was watching, she took the apple from her pocket and threw it into the cage. It rolled along the floor of the cage, bouncing of stones that had been thrown in previously, and came to rest against the elf's leg.

"Eat that," she whispered as loudly as she dared. "I'll try and get you something to drink later."

He didn't open his eyes or acknowledge her in any way. She only hoped that he understood common. Before anybody could miss her absence too much, she hurried back to the tavern, and stopped herself entering just in time by the front door. She retraced her steps around the back of the building, checked on the location of the out-house, just in case anybody thought to ask her where it was, and then re-entered the building by the back door. When she returned to her table, the knights were still boasting and Duncan, Lucas and Belvar were arguing about who should get to sleep in the stable.

"But he snores!" Belvar complained in a somewhat petulant voice.

"I've told you before, it's my sinuses," said Lucas.

"I'll be damned if I'm being woken by him," said Duncan.

"Perhaps Esme and I will take the stable," Kiree smiled sweetly. "Then Lucas can have our room to himself."

"Actually, I wouldn't mind sleeping in the stable," she said.

"You are not sleeping in the stable," Shayla said firmly. "You will sleep in a room, with Kiree. Duncan will sleep in the stable, because he had the presence of mind to ask for it first. Belvar, Lucas, you will simply have to suffer."

There was no more arguing after that. Very rare was it that somebody disagreed with Shayla. Esme realised she was starting to make a habit out of it.

o - o - o - o - o

Back at The Swinging Sword, everybody sat around a dingy table downstairs whilst Belvar divvied coins into seven piles. Each pile had five gold coins, fifty silver and over a hundred coppers. It was the last of the money they had left; they would find no more until they reached Secomber and took on some work. Or until Kiree stole it.

"I'll get us some extra provisions," Belvar said. "We could use a few bits and pieces, and some additional food supplies wouldn't go amiss."

"I shall be travelling out of town for a few hours, to find somewhere quiet to commune with the spirits," Shayla said with a frown. "I must ask them to speed Mala on her journey."

"I will go with you," Daeghun said immediately.

"I would like that," Shayla smiled.

"And I will get all of the horses re-shod," said Duncan. "I think mine's lost a couple of nails. Wouldn't hurt to get them all checked out."

"Shopping for me!" Kiree exclaimed gleefully. "Esme, you wanna come?"

"No thanks," she replied. "I think I'll stay here and have an afternoon nap. I've not had much sleep over the past few days."

"Aw. Okay, I understand. Lucas, shopping?"

"I think not. I have too many songs to work on. I plan to sequester myself in my room until well after dark, and work on some of the tunes I picked up in the forest."

"Let's meet back here after dark for dinner, then," said Shayla.

When they were all agreed, they took their piles of money and began to leave, Shayla with Daeghun right behind her, Duncan on his way to the stable, Lucas up the stairs to the bed rooms, and Kiree and Belvar chatting together as they left for the market. Esme put her own money in her purse, then counted to two hundred before leaving the inn and making a beeline for the town square. She'd been half worried that the townsfolk would have executed the drow by now, but he was still there, in his cage, being taunted by children who were resorting to childish songs now that their stones seemed to have no effect. She went to the well in the middle of the square and hoisted up a bucket of cool water, washing her hands and face with it. Then she sat on the side of it and waited for the children to grow bored.

It didn't take long. Soon they were called away by parents, or cuffed and told to stop being so lazy when there was work to be done. When the last of them was gone, she picked up an earthenware cup that had been left at the foot of the well and filled it from the bucket. Then she carried it to the cage, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching. When she reached the cage, the drow refused to react to her presence again, and the apple was still by his knee.

"Why didn't you eat it?" she hissed in frustration. Didn't he know how much she'd risked by giving it to him?

He opened his red eyes and looked at her. Now that she was closer, she could see that the whites of his eyes were actually yellow, and she didn't think that was normal for his kind. "What would be the point?" he replied. "It would only slow the inevitable." His voice was strongly accented, even more so than the wild elves' had been. The result wasn't unpleasant, simply... strange, as if the words were being twisted as they left his mouth.

"Do you want to die?"

"Want? Of course not. But it's what will happen, sooner or later. I should have opened my veins instead of allowing myself to be captured. I should have known that this would be the outcome."

"Why did you come here? What have these people ever done to you?"

"I came here to warn these people of my kin's impending attack. I hoped to give them time to prepare and defend themselves. I had not counted on warriors being stationed here."

"Is that why you set fire to an old empty cart?"

"I knew they would never listen to me, even if they didn't attack me outright. I hoped that they would see the cart burning and suspect an attack. I did not know that the raiding party was close behind me. After I'd started the fire, I didn't have any chance to escape before they found me."

"Why haven't you told this to anybody? Surely they'll let you go if they know you're innocent."

"I've already told them, or at least tried to. They don't believe me... or they simply don't care. To them, I am drow. I deserve my fate whether or not I am personally guilty."

"They can't leave you in here if you're innocent!"

"They can, and they will. But you... you seem to possess what surfacers call 'compassion'. I would ask a favour of you."

"What is it?"

"Fetch me a knife. Allow me to end my life now, while I still have the strength to do it."

"I will do no such thing. But I will speak to my friends and tell them of your innocence. Perhaps we can appeal to the villagers to free you."

"You will fail."

"Here, drink this," she said, pushing the cup through the bars of the cage and placing it on the floor. She quickly withdrew her hand, but the drow made no move to grab her or take the water. "I'll be back soon."

She hurried back to the inn and flew up the stairs, trotting along the corridor until she reached the room Lucas was sharing with Belvar. From behind the door she heard harp music, strumming soft and gentle. He wasn't going to be pleased that she was interrupting him, but she didn't know where the others were. Besides, Lucas was experienced and wise. He'd know what to do about the drow. She knocked on the door.

"Yes, what is it?" he called gruffly. The music didn't cease, so she opened to door and stepped inside.

"Lucas, I spoke to the drow," she said.

He looked up at her from the bed he was sitting upon with the harp on his knee. "Don't tell Shayla, or you'll never hear the end of it."

"He came here to warn the townsfolk about the raiding party. He wasn't part of the killing. All he did was burn an old cart to try to warn them of an attack."

"Esme," he said, putting his harp down on the bed beside him, "I know that you don't like seeing people in pain. But drow are, by their very nature, evil creatures. They think nothing of exploiting those weaker than them, and they see kindness and caring as the greatest weakness of all. Emotions like that are driven out of them from childhood, replaced with hatred and ambition. A drow would lie to his mother, and then kill her for simply standing in his way. It's how their society work. The strong stand upon or kill the weak to further their own goals. The drow in that cage would tell you _anything_ to get you to set him free."

"But he didn't ask to be set free. He asked me to give him a weapon so that he could kill himself."

"And so he makes it seem like setting him free is your idea, that you have thought of it all on your own. In reality, he planted the seeds of the idea in your mind. Freed, he would kill you and anybody else he could get his hands on. I know it is hard to accept, but Shayla is right. The drow are evil, and they are cunning. You would do better to stay away from him and ignore his lies."

"Alright. Thank you for listening. I'm sorry I interrupted you."

"Don't think twice about it. The best thing you can do now is find Kiree and do some shopping. Put the drow out of your mind. Tomorrow we'll be gone, and you won't have to worry about him again."

"I will. Thanks."

She closed the door and descended the stairs more slowly this time. Lucas seemed so sure that the drow was guilty and evil. And he _was_ wise and experienced... but it didn't matter. She couldn't sit by and watch anything suffer like that drow, evil or not. Lathander wouldn't want her to let anybody suffer... would he? There was only one way to find out. If Lathander approved of her healing the drow, he would grant her the ability to do so. If he didn't approve, she wouldn't be able to heal the dark elf. Her friends might be able to argue with her, but they couldn't argue with Lathander. She marched back out to the cage and waited until the drow opened his eyes again. The water and the apple were both still there, both untouched.

"My friend says that all drow are evil," she said. "That you have kindness and caring driven out of you from childhood, and that you'd kill your own mothers if they stood in your way."

"Most would," he said. He red eyes were pained, his pupils almost fully contracted in the bright sunlight. "But not all of us. There are a few of us who live amongst our kin, who do not worship the evil gods of the Underdark. If our kin knew of us, they would slay us in a heartbeat. We both know that freeing me is out of the question, so won't you do as I ask and give me a knife? You have one right there, on your belt. You would be doing me a great kindness."

"You know what kindness is?"

"Of course. It is doing things for people and asking for nothing in return. It is what I tried to do when I left the Underdark and came here to warn these people."

"Put your arm through the bars of the cage," she said.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

For a wonder, he didn't argue. He moved slowly towards the side of the cage nearest her, losing more blood in the process. The flies swarming around him took off at his movement, and he cautiously reached out through the bars, as if he expected her to break his arm. She took his hand, which was sticky with his blood, and closed her eyes, sending a prayer to Lathander. Then she opened herself up to the magic he provided, felt it flowing through her body and into the drow. His flesh began to mend, his bloodstream cleansed of the infection and toxins caused by the flies. She opened her eyes and released his hand, and he drew his arm back into the cage, looking over his now flawless skin. When he turned his eyes to her, the whites were white again, instead of sickly yellow, though his pupils were still red.

"What have I done to deserve such cruelty?" he asked.

"Cruelty? I healed you! I thought you would have been glad to see an end to the pain."

"The townsmen beat me once, and stopped only because I was close to death and they wanted me to die slowly. Now that I am healed again, they will have an excuse to beat me once more. You have simply given them an excuse to inflict more pain."

"Drink your water and eat the apple. I'm going to think of a plan to get you out of there."

"That would be even more foolish than healing me," he said angrily. "They would kill you simply for thinking about freeing me. I have already come to accept that the only way out of this cage is through death. Why can't you give me your knife and let me be done with it?"

"Because nobody deserves to suffer as you have, and if you are innocent, you don't belong in that cage either. Now, eat and drink to keep up your strength. I'll be back after dark, hopefully to free you."

She left the cage and wandered the streets, keeping an eye out for Kiree. She'd told Lucas she'd find the halfling for shopping, and it would look suspicious if she came back alone. She knew that she couldn't return to the cage again; people would start getting suspicious if she spent too much time near the drow. But as she walked, she tried desperately to come up with some way of convincing Shayla the drow was innocent. It wasn't going to be easy, but she doubted she could free him without the help of her friends.

o - o - o - o - o

"The horses should be good for another few weeks," said Duncan, later that evening as they sat around the table inside The Swinging Sword. Despite earlier grievances with the cleanliness of the place, Shayla had insisted on eating here instead of The Helm at Highsun because she didn't want Esme questioning the knights again.

"And I've got us enough food to see us to Secomber and beyond," Belvar added.

"Will we travel by road?" Esme asked, pretending to have an interest in the conversation partially to lower Shayla's guard.

"It's more of a trail than a road," said Daeghun. "Wagons can't travel it, but mules can. It's not a true trade route, though. Most merchants avoid it."

"Shayla, I spoke to the drow earlier today," she said. "He's not like the others. He came here to warn the villagers of the raid. He was trying to leave when the people here caught him."

"I don't care to hear about drow lies," the elven woman replied.

"But he's innocent-"

"Innocent? _Innocent?_ Try telling that to the Miller's children. Come with me." Shayla grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet before dragging her towards the door. Then she led her out of the inn and towards the town square, where she stopped in front of the drow's cage and finally released her arm. Esme rubbed at her skin; the elf's grip was strong. She would be bruised tomorrow. "You, drow," Shayla said. "Tell my foolish friend here of the evil things you have done."

The drow's eyes were two points of glowing red in the failing light of the evening. He pushed himself up from the bars of his cage to sit up straight and alert.

"I once killed a surfacer man and took his wife and child back to the Underdark to be used as slaves. On the command of my mistress, I beat another surfacer slave to death when he failed to follow her orders. On one raid, I killed a man and his wife in front of their four children, before killing them too. On another, I forced a man to watch as other members of my party took his wife and daughter against their will before killing them. I then set him free so that we could hunt him down. I cut out the heart of a surfacer whilst he still lived and gave it to a priestess of Lolth for use in a sacrifice to summon a powerful demon. I-"

"That is enough," said Shayla. "Do you see now, Esme, what kind of creature this is?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and realised her body was shaking. The things that the drow described were beyond her comprehension. How could one living, breathing thing do all of that to others? Shayla had been right all along. The drow were evil. But... if this drow was evil, why had Lathander allowed her to heal his injuries?

"Come on," Shayla said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get back to the warmth and light of the inn. The darkness is no place for you and I. Let the drow remain here alone, as it is meant to be."

Back at the inn, she didn't speak for the rest of the night. When she saw her reflection in the window, her face was pale and her eyes wide. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost, and felt that way too. Her appetite had completely vanished as images of the things the drow described flashed across her mind. How could she reconcile freeing somebody like him, after all the terrible acts he'd committed? And those were just the few he'd told her about. But at the same time, how could she leave him in the cage to be starved or beaten to death?

Later that night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she thought about all that had happened to her since leaving the High Forest. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. She'd seen more than she ever thought she would, and was still learning about the way the world worked. But in the end, it was Haluar's words that helped her reach a decision. She recalled what he'd said on the night before she'd left. _You have a good heart, Esmerelle. The world needs more people like you. Don't let anybody change you._

If she was going to be true to herself, she couldn't leave the drow in the cage. It was too cruel. But neither could she give him the means to kill himself, because she wouldn't be able to live with her guilt. There was only one thing to do. She had to set him free.

She pushed her blankets off herself and tiptoed across the room to the other bed. "Kiree," she said, gently tapping her friend's shoulder. Kiree groaned, and rolled over. "Kiree!" she whispered, a little more fiercely.

"What?" Kiree mumbled. "It can't be morning yet."

"It's not. It's still night. But I need your help."

The halfling sat went from half asleep to upright and alert in less than two seconds. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just need you to help me with something."

"The only things I can help you with are stealing, getting in places you shouldn't be, or finding a nice man to spend the evening with. There are no nice men here, so what nefarious activity do you want to engage in?"

"I want you to open the lock on the drow's cage."

"No, absolutely not," she replied, lying down again and pulling her blankets up to her chin. "Shayla would kill me. Besides, the drow are evil killers. Setting one free... you might as well just go out and murder a bunch of people yourself. You'll be just as guilty if the drow does it."

"Please, help me. Shayla need never know. And the drow is innocent. I know it."

"Because he told you?"

"No, because Lathander told me. And I believe he wants me to set the drow free. Please, Kiree. I'll never ask you for anything again. And you can have my share of the payment for the next job."

"We'll be seen. And when they catch us, they'll put us in cages too."

"No, I can make us invisible. They'll never see us. Only a wizard could penetrate my spell, and only if he knew we were there. How many wizards do you think a place like Red Larch has?"

"Less than none. But it's still too dangerous."

"Very well. I'll have to do it on my own then. I've never seen a lock picked before but it can't be all that difficult," she said, returning to her bed and beginning to change into her travelling clothes.

"Are you kidding? It takes _years_ to master lock-picking. It's more of an art form than stealing. And you're not doing this on your own. You'll never succeed. I'll pick the damned lock, but that's all I'm doing. And if anybody asks, we were both here all night."

"Thank you!" she said, smiling.

"We'll have to be quiet. Shayla and Daeghun have ears like dogs. And Duncan is asleep out in the stable."

"Yes, of course."

When both women were dressed, and Kiree had tied her roll of picks to her belt, Esme cast the invisibility spell over both of them and they stepped out into the corridor, closing the door silently behind themselves. She followed in Kiree's footsteps, avoiding the worst of the creaking floorboards, and then down the rickety old stairs. The common room was dim; most of the lights had been put out, and all of the patrons were abed. Only the innkeeper was left, counting the day's earnings behind the bar, muttering to himself as he added up in his head.

Though Esme could see the man, and she could also see Kiree, who was under the same spell, she knew that the man would not be able to see her unless she either spoke to him or attacked him; neither of which she was particularly inclined to do. As they passed, she held a finger over her lips, signalling for Kiree to keep silent. The halfling merely rolled her eyes. When the reached the door, she opened it, silently, watching the innkeeper for a reaction. He didn't even notice that the door had been opened until they were both outside, and when he did, he simply closed it again, and she heard the bolt slide back into place. That might make it a little difficult to get back to their room, but right now, it was not her main concern.

Esme's instinct was to hurry straight towards the cage and have it over and done with, but Kiree led her to the side of a house overlooking the square, so that they could wait in the shadows. Exactly why the thief wanted to wait in the shadows when they were already invisible she did not know, but since Kiree had far more experience at this type of thing, she was willing to defer to the older woman's judgement. They waited for a full fifteen minutes, in which time they saw three armed men - not knights, most likely what passed for the militia here - cross the square at roughly ten minute intervals. Kiree waited until another man passed by, then slipped silently from the shadows to the cage, with Esme following close behind. As they approached the cage, the elf's head came up, his eyes, bright red in the moonlight, scanning the air where she and Kiree stood.

The halfling wasted no time. She climbed the bars to the height of the lock on the door, and examined it expertly. Then she took out several lengths of differently shaped metal and began probing the lock. The drow noticed, and transferred his gaze to where Kiree was standing.

"I told you once before, this idea is foolish," he said. "You will find yourself thrown in a cage like mine."

Esme said nothing. She couldn't talk without ending the spell, and if she was caught, she knew she'd be in serious trouble. Her heart was already racing in her chest, adrenaline pumping through her veins making her feel giddy even though she was terrified. It was a similar feeling to the one she'd had when waiting to be attacked on the beach by the lake, and it was all she could do to keep quiet and not tell Kiree to hurry up.

"Someone approaches," the drow said. Kiree immediately stopped her efforts with the lock, and both woman froze on the spot. A few seconds later, two of the knights emerged from an alley that led towards The Helm at Highsun. They walked unsteadily, and laughed loudly between themselves. Esme was filled with disgust. They were drunk! True, she'd once been drunk herself, but that had been during one of Silverymoon's many festivals. Besides, knights were supposed to be better than that. They weren't supposed to give in to excesses as easily as the common folk. Though Eldon had often served wine with dinner, he'd never had more than one glass per evening.

She hoped and prayed that the knights would pass the cage by, but they made straight towards it, and as they approached, one of them drew his sword. Esme's mouth went dry, and she forced herself to stand still. They might have heard Kiree picking the lock, but they couldn't _see_ anything. They didn't truly _know_ anything. To her surprise, the knight with the sword stuck the weapon through the bars, and the drow stepped back just in time to avoid being skewered. But instead of withdrawing the sword, the knight moved it from side to side, banging the blade upon them and making a noise that rang out like a frantically clanging bell. Kiree dropped her picks in surprise, and they fell to the floor, jingling with the impact. The noise was covered by the ringing of the sword on the bars, but out of Kiree's grip, the picks were now visible. Slowly, the halfling began to step down from the bars.

"Hey, what's all this racket?" a voice called out, and Kiree froze again. From behind them, the innkeeper was approaching with a heavy cudgel in one hand.

"Just having a little fun with the prisoner here, my good man," said the second knight. "No harm in that, is there?"

"No harm? You're making enough noise to raise the dead! I don't know how they do it where you're from, but there's children abed here, and their mothers won't appreciate them being woken. You'll have the sharp side of some shrew's tongue by morning, mark my words."

Whilst all three men were occupied, Kiree jumped down and grabbed the picks, stuffing them into her shirt. Another pair of footsteps approached, and Esme saw one of the militia arrive on the scene.

"Any problems here?" the man asked.

"Yes, I have a problem," said the first knight, removing his sword from the cage and waving it about in the air. "Your barkeep here doesn't seem to like me interrogating the prisoner."

"I think you good Sirs should interrogate him in the morning, when the good folk of Red Larch are awake."

"You don't dictate our actions to us! Your tiny little town wouldn't even be here, were it not for us."

"And mighty grateful we are to you. But is it not said that drow fear the sunlight? Would high noon not be the best time to have your fun?"

"The man has a point," said the second knight. "Let's leave the cur to suffer in the daylight for a little."

"Wait a minute," said the first knight, turning back to the cage and peering at the drow. "His injuries are gone! Somebody's healed him!" Esme closed her eyes, and tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. "You there, drow. Who did this to you? Tell me the truth or I'll gut you right here, and let the dogs feast on your corpse."

"It was Lolth herself who healed me," said the drow in a sinister tone. "The Spider Queen is angered by the slaying of her followers. Though you may kill me, know that this town is doomed. In time, an army of my people will storm this place, and you will all perish. All of this I heard when the Mistress of the Underdark touched me with her glorious magic."

"Tough words, for a man in a cage. I say we execute him now."

"You can discuss it in the morning when everybody else is awake to see it," said the innkeeper. "By rights, a decision like that rests with Miller. It was his family they killed."

"Come on," said the second knight. "Perhaps The Red Larch Rambler will still be open. The night is young yet."

The only thing that kept Esme from letting out a sharp breath as the knights left was the fact that the innkeeper and militiaman were still standing beside the cage. They both watched the knights leave, then turned to look at the drow.

"I'm not keen on leaving him in there until he dies," said the militia. "Why don't we turn him over to Blackhammer in Triboar?"

"Hmph, tell that to Miller and his dead kids."

Both men left, and finally Esme did let out the breath she'd been holding. Kiree climbed back up the bars and began working again on the lock, and within a few minutes she had it open. The door swung open, and the drow stepped out of it, jumping down onto the floor and landing silently.

"This way," Esme said, forced to speak so that he could see her. She felt the effects of the spell wear off, and made a run towards the edge of the town on the opposite side from which they'd entered. She didn't hear either Kiree or the drow following, but when she turned to look she saw him behind her, and she knew Kiree wouldn't be far either. When they reached the woods, she stopped and took a few deep breaths. Her heart was racing, and she feared she might suffer a heart attack if she was exposed to much more excitement. "This trail leads towards Secomber," she said, remembering what she'd seen of Shayla's map the day before. "After you pass through the hills, turn north, and travel across the plains. You'll find the High Forest after several days' journey, and you should be safe there."

"What do they call you?" the drow asked, his red eyes the most visible part of him beneath the shadowed forest.

"Esmerelle."

"Well, Esmerelle. I owe you my freedom and my life. I shall not forget your kindness."

He set off along the path, his blood-soaked silver hair bright in the moonlight. When he disappeared from sight, she took another deep breath, and hoped she'd done the right thing. "Come on," she said to the invisible Kiree. WWe have an inn to break back into."


	21. Crossing

Chapter 21.

Crossing

"_People know you for what you've done, not for what you plan to do."_ - Anon

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning, Esme was woken by heavy banging on her bedroom door. Her first instinct was to pull the blankets over her head and ignore it, but it grew more and more insistent, so much so that the walls began shaking with the force of the pounding. The drow's absence, it seemed, had been noticed at last. She rolled out of bed, stretched, and opened the door as she smothered a yawn. Shayla stalked in, her eyes blazing and her staff in hand.

"The drow is gone," the elf said angrily. "What do you know about this?"

"Gone? What do you mean, gone? He was in a locked cage."

"Don't feign ignorance to me, Esmerelle. You were seen by several townsfolk talking to the drow yesterday. So far, nobody has spoken an accusation against you, but it won't be long until they do."

"How has he gone?"

"We don't know," Shayla replied, grinding her teeth. "The cage is in the same state this morning as it was last night. The last people to see the drow - our very own innkeeper and one of the town's militia - claim his cage was in sound form late in the night, and they don't recall seeing anybody near the drow, other than a couple of the knights."

"Perhaps the knights took the drow, then."

"And why would they do that?"

Esme shrugged. Locking the cage again had been Kiree's idea, and she was glad the halfling had suggested it, because it would serve to confuse the locals. Nobody who broke out of a place took the effort to lock it again, just as thieves didn't lock houses back up once they'd broken into them. With any luck, it would make it seem as if the drow had been spirited away with magic.

"Shayla," said Kiree, "Esme was in the room with me all night. She never left, or I would have heard."

"Both of you, get dressed and packed. We're leaving within half an hour."

Shayla stormed from the room like a one-woman hurricane, her hair all but bristling in anger. Esme exchanged a guilty glance with Kiree, and they both began to dress and pack away their night clothes. Shayla was going to be terrible to travel with for the next few days.

They didn't even get chance to eat breakfast. As soon as everybody was ready, Shayla bustled them out of the door and round to the stable at the back of the inn. Duncan was waiting there with their horses, and a group of mounted men were just leaving the courtyard. They were all carrying crossbows and spears, and had sleeping rolls on the backs of their saddles.

"What's all that about?" Esme asked Duncan as she accepted her horse's reins from him.

"Scouting parties. They're going after the drow."

"Shayla told me about that. Do you think they'll catch him?"

"Not likely. They've no idea which way he went, and drow can move fast, when they want to. He's probably halfway back to the Underdark by now."

"You were sleeping out here in the stable. Didn't you hear anything, or see anything?"

"Oh, sure. Heard a loud banging noise that woke me from a great dream about slaying a dragon. Stuck my head out of the stable long enough to see a pair of knights arguing with a couple of the locals. Then they all left, and I went back to my 'bed'. Mind you, I did hear the knights talk as they passed the barn by. They weren't too happy with the local militia ordering them around. One of them even insinuated it would be best if they took the drow and did away with him quickly."

"Did you tell that to the townspeople?"

"Of course. Why do you think they're all so cheesed off at the knights?" he grinned. "Can't really stand knights, myself. Too elite. They look down on you unless you're noble-born."

"And what do you think really happened to the drow?"

"Me? I think some more of his people came back for him. How else could he have escaped so efficiently, and with so little sound, and no sign of his passing? I reckon I'd've heard the knights taking him away. They tend to rattle when they walk, and I doubt he would have gone quietly."

"Duncan, stop putting ideas in Esme's head," said Shayla.

"Weren't you the one who said I had to stop... what was it... coddling her?" Duncan replied. It was strange to hear him argue with Shayla. He normally took her side. "She asked my opinion, and she got it. Two adults _are_ allowed to hold a conversation without asking your permission right... right?"

"I'm sorry," Shayla sighed, though she didn't look too pleased about it. "This escaped drow has me on edge. The thought of it loose on the surface... I have already advised the people here to send messengers to the nearest towns and villages to warn them of the potential danger. I fear that they'll never catch it, now."

"Would you like me to try and pick up the trail?" Daeghun asked calmly.

"No, those fool scouts have probably trampled it with their horses by now. And the drow is mostly likely back in the Underdark. We'd only be wasting our time. But at least the townsfolk will be prepared in future. They won't let their guards down for a long time."

"If we leave now, we can be at the river before nightfall."

"Then let's waste no more time here. The sooner we reach Secomber, the better."

o - o - o - o - o

By late afternoon, the group had arrived at the bridge across the Dessarin River. And they weren't the only ones; over a dozen people were clustered around the bridge, some of them leading mules and horses, others on foot. At the foot of the bridge, several men were standing with their arms folded across their chests, resolutely blocking the way.

"We have a right to cross!" one of the queued men, a merchant, Esme decided, called out.

"And cross you will, but not right now," one of the men blocking the way said calmly. "As I explained to your friends, the bridge has been damaged and we're working to fix it. If you try to cross it, you risk not only your own lives, but you could collapse the whole thing."

"I wonder what's happening here," Lucas said quietly to their group as he dismounted. "I'll see what I can find out." He walked up to the waiting men, clapped one of them affably on the shoulder, and began to engage him in quiet conversation.

"Regardless of what happened, I doubt we'll be crossing any time soon," said Duncan quietly, loosening his horse's girth to give the animal a rest.

"You know, our luck's been really bad since we left your people, Shayla," Kiree mused. "Perhaps Brandobaris is working against us."

"More likely we experience problems because of the escaped drow," said Shayla.

"Well," Lucas said, returning to their group, "it seems the bridge has been damaged during recent flooding... boulders washed down the river have destabilised some of its foundations. The builders here are from Goldenfields, and they're working to fix the problem, but it could be days or weeks yet. Apparently the waters are still quite high, and there's some localised flooding which is causing problems."

"Looks like we won't be going to Secomber after all," Esme said, trying her best to sound disappointed but secretly relieved she wouldn't have to pass the temple of Lathander where she had grown up.

"Not necessarily," said Daeghun. "We could travel down-river, where the river is neither as deep nor as swift. Crossing there should be relatively easy."

"Great."

"Esmerelle cannot swim," Shayla explained. "We would have to cross at a point that is shallow enough for her to stand."

"I'm not all that fond of swimming myself," Belvar said, patting Esme's arm. "We dwarves weren't really built for it. Our bones are heavy, and we tend to sink easily."

"Daeghun, head down-river and see if you can find us a suitable crossing-place. We'll follow behind you."

"I would recommend," Lucas interjected, "that you travel up-river to search for a crossing place, not down-river."

"But the river will be faster and deeper up-river," Daeghun replied.

"But down-river, the channel will open out onto a flood plain. The flow might be slower, but it will be wider to cross, and we'll have to contend with mud and potential quick-sand as well as river water. Up-stream, however, the river cuts through rocky hills. The ground will be firmer, and we'll likely see many large boulders dropped by the waters during previous floods."

"Up-river it is, then," Daeghun conceded, and set out on foot. As Esme mounted Blaze once more, she wondered if her day could possibly get any worse.

The last rays of light of the setting sun were colouring the sky and the trees of the woods red by the time Esme and the others caught up with Daeghun. They found him near a waterfall, and he led them a short distance up the river, to the point where the waterfall fell. Just behind it was a haphazard line of boulders jutting out above the surface of the water, which gushed around them, swirling debris back and forth. After she noticed two dead stoat bodies being thrown around by the current and tangled in the leaves and branches that were caught behind the rocks, Esme stopped looking too closely at the debris.

"We can cross here," said Daeghun, indicating the rocks. They were all wet, and some had a covering of green algae.

"I don't think I can cross that," she said, thinking of the force of the water as it cascaded over the fall. If she fell in... she doubted she'd survive. "Besides, how will the horses cross?"

"Horses can swim, they will be fine. As for the rest of us... I've already been across to the other side and found a place to camp. I'll tie a rope to a tree on this side, then take it to the other side and tie the other end to another tree. You can use it to hold on to as you cross, to steady yourself."

"It doesn't really seem all that safe..."

"Daeghun and I can walk on either side of you," Duncan suggested. "That way, if you feel like you're going to fall, you can just grab on to one of us. How does that sound?"

"I suppose it would be okay," she relented at last.

"Good," said Daeghun. "I'll run a rope over now and take the horses with me on the first crossing, then they're out of the way."

"We should take our shoes off," said Shayla, sitting down and removing hers. "It will be easier to cross bare-footed than with shoes which might slip."

Esme chose a dry spot on the ground to sit on, and removed her shoes and her socks. The latter went into her bag, and the former she tied together by the laces and fastened to the pommel of Blaze's saddle. When she was finished, she tied the horse's reins to a lead-rope Daeghun was carrying, and watched as he led all three horses into the water. It quickly became obvious that the water was deep; the horses were up to their necks, swimming along beside Daeghun who walked calmly over the slippery boulders. When the elf reached the other side of the river, he led the horses up onto the bank and tethered them to a tree. Then he took out another rope and tied it firmly around a tree trunk before setting off again with the rope in his hand. When he reached the shore again, he tied the rope around the closest tree to their group, and Esme was left to marvel at how quickly and agilely he had moved over the rocks.

"I recommend," said Shayla, "that Kiree and I go first, followed by Daeghun, then Esmerelle and Duncan, and finally Belvar and Lucas. Does that suit everybody?"

When there were no objections, Kiree climbed down the bank and mounted the first of the rocks. She didn't hold on to the rope that Daeghun had run across, but she didn't particularly look like she needed to. If anything, she was even more agile than Daeghun, and she hopped from rock to rock as if she'd been crossing rivers all her life. When Shayla and Daeghun followed Kiree, Esme hefted her pack on her back and slowly stepped down onto the closest partially submerged boulder. Duncan hovered close behind her in case she felt wobbly, and she slowly began the crossing, carefully placing her bare feet on the cold, algae-covered boulders as she gripped the rope with both hands.

It was one of the most terrifying experiences of her life. Every sound and smell was amplified. The gushing of the waterfall was the roar of a hungry beast. The smell of the algae on the rocks was pungent, not aided by the stench of the decaying, bloated corpses of the stoats that had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the floodwaters.

"We're halfway there," she heard Duncan say. She nodded, but didn't look up at him. She was too busy watching the rocks as she carefully placed her feet, trying not to let them slip.

"Look out everybody!" Kiree called, a note of panic in her voice. "Log!"

This time, Esme _did_ look up, just in time to see what looked like an entire tree being carried swiftly by the river. As it rounded a bend, it swung out so that its trunk was at right angles to the banks. Her heart began to flutter wildly in her chest. _It's going to hit us!_ she thought desperately. And it did, colliding with everybody who was on the rocks. Esme felt it slam into the boulder she was standing on, causing it to rock. Her feet slipped and she slid into the water still holding onto the safety rope. Around her she heard shouting and yelling as the others fell into the river too, and the rope she was holding began to bow with the weight of everybody holding onto it. She felt herself lowered further into the water, which was soaking her clothes, dragging her down. Her fingers, freezing cold from being drenched, felt like they were burning on the rope.

"Hold on, Esmerelle!" Duncan called. She turned her head to the side and saw him making his way slowly along the rope towards her, but it was no use. A wave of cold water rolled over her head and as she coughed and spluttered, her fingers slipped. Involuntarily, she tried to scream, and water gushed into her mouth. She exhaled, trying to spit out the water and at the same time being dragged inexorably down by the current. The last thing she saw before she disappeared over the edge of the waterfall was Belvar and Lucas losing their grips on the rope too.

o - o - o - o - o

Awareness returned to Esme, and the first thing she was aware of was numbness in her right hand. She opened her eyes and found herself lying on a cold hard floor beneath her blanket, her head resting on her right arm, which was slowly cutting off the circulation to her extremity. She lifted her head and her hand began to tingle as blood flowed back into it, but the act of lifting her head brought new awareness; pain, in her temple. She raised her left hand and the tips of her fingers came into contact with material wrapped around her head. She tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but nausea quickly forced her back down and her eyes closed. She drifted for a short time, wanting to wake and move, but too tired and cold to make a real attempt.

What had happened? The last thing she could remember was cold river water gushing over her head, and somebody trying to hold her body up, to prevent her from inhaling half of the river. It must have worked, because wherever she was, she was at least alive. But where were her friends? Had they swum to shore or been carried even further than she? Which of them had saved her? Surely not Kiree, who was too small, or Belvar, who was a self-professed poor swimmer, and probably not Lucas, who would probably have struggled in the current himself. Nor could it have been Shayla, because the elf would have healed her injuries immediately instead of bandaging them. It must have been either Duncan or Daeghun who had saved her... but which one? And where were the others?

She fell asleep again, and when she came to, with most of her wits finally collected, she opened her eyes to see a fire burning merrily in front of her. It wasn't a large fire; just big enough to warm her, but not big enough to banish all of the shadows around her, and she inched gratefully towards it, crawling along the ground on her belly like a grub. The blessed heat of the flames warmed her cold body, and it was only then she realised her clothes were still damp. That meant that neither Kiree nor Shayla were here, because neither of them would have left her in wet clothing all this time.

"I feared you might not wake," said a strange voice from across the fire.

Esme felt her heart skip a beat in fright, and she pushed herself up, trying to appear alert. Though the voice did not belong to any of her friends, there was something familiar about it. It was a voice she had heard elsewhere before... but _where_? As she sat up and looked around for the speaker, she noticed for the first time that she was inside a cave. It wasn't a high cave; she could probably have stood normally inside it, but not on her tiptoes - still, it was shelter from the elements, and she was grateful for it.

"Who's there?" she asked, hearing her voice quavering but unable to do anything about it. "Show yourself." From the deep shadows of the cave, two points of red light drew nearer, followed by a halo of silvery hair. The drow she had rescued from the cage finally materialised in the firelight, and he squatted down to observe her in silence. "You! You're the one who pulled me from the river?"

"Yes."

"How? And why? How did you even know where to find me?"

"I knew because I followed you when you left the town with your friends," he said, his voice quiet and surprisingly calming.

"I thought you went north, towards the High Forest?"

"That's what you suggested. It's not what I did."

"Why did you follow me? And why did you save me? You took a great risk, jumping into the river to pull me out."

"And you took a great risk opening my cage to set me free. We could spend the rest of the night discussing our heroism, but it won't get us anywhere. Here, you are weak. You should eat." From beside the fire he picked up a packet of something and handed it to her. She recognised it immediately.

"These are the rations Belvar bought in Red Larch," she said, feeling her anger stir, though it sent slivers of pain through her head. "You went through my pack?"

"Yes, to find bandages. I had none, and you were bleeding badly."

She raised a hand to her temple again, feeling the rough material. When she brought her hand down in front of her face, she found her fingertips slicked red with blood. "I have healing potions in my pack," she said, her mouth going suddenly dry as a spell of dizziness overtook her. She'd never been injured like this before, and she'd always believed that these sorts of injuries would only ever happen to other people. By nature, she was a healer. The thought that she might one day need healing had never even occurred to her.

"Most of your bottles were broken inside your pack," he replied, picking up her damp, water-stained bag and reaching inside to withdraw three bottles. "These are the only ones left intact. They weren't labelled, and I didn't want to give you something in case it was poison."

"Poison!" she said with a harsh laugh. "Why would I keep poison in my pack, right next to my food?"

"Perhaps to deter thieves."

"Two of those are potions of strength, and the other is a potion of clarity, to defog the mind. They won't do me any good. I need Shayla. Where are my friends?"

"I don't know," he said, settling back onto his heels. "They were all knocked into the river, like you. I saw some of them strike out for the banks, though some went to the far side, and some to the near. Others I saw washed down-river with you, but I lost sight of them when I jumped in."

"I have to find them," she said. She pushed herself upwards, and fell back as the dizziness returned.

The drow stood and stepped backwards, blocking the mouth of the cave. "It's dark, raining, and you are injured," he said. "You're not going anywhere."

"You can't keep me here. This isn't a cage."

"No, it's not. But I've already had to carry you here once. If you leave, I'll only have to carry you back when you pass out from blood loss."

"Then you have to go and find them for me."

"No. They'd kill me on sight. Now eat. As you said to me, you need to keep up your strength. Your friends will find you eventually, or you will find them, but not right now."

To disguise the rising unease she felt at the drow's insistence that she remain, she opened the rations and nibbled on them. The hard biscuits had been softened by the water, but her empty stomach didn't care. She ate slowly, wishing she had something to drink, but didn't ask for her canteen yet. She was obviously stuck with her saviour for the time being, so she needed to make the most of the situation.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Kalan'Tel Z'Ress of House Maerret."

"Is there something shorter I can call you?"

"Kalan'Tel is fine."

"Well, Kalan'Tel, it's nice to officially meet you," she said, holding out her hand. He cocked his head and looked at it. "It's customary to shake hands the first time you meet someone."

He moved warily, as if suspecting some deception, and slowly took her hand, gripping it lightly and shaking it. "Strange custom," he said, when she released his hand. "What's the point of it?"

"I... don't really know," she admitted. "It's just something we do."

"And all surfacers greet each other in this way?"

"It depends. You probably wouldn't greet a king or a queen like that. I think you have to bow for royalty."

"Bowing, yes," he said, with an enthusiastic nod. "In the Underdark, inferiors bow to their superiors. To do anything else would result in a public flogging. To take their hand, to touch them... an immediate execution."

"Kalan'Tel," she said, supressing the shiver that ran through her body at his casual discussion of execution, "why did you save me from the river?"

"Because you saved me from the cage."

"Yes, but... why? Did you feel you owed me some debt? Did your conscience make you do it?"

He frowned for a moment, then took some wood that was drying by the fire and threw it onto the flames. "Eat," he said. "You should keep up your strength."

"Why were you following me?" she persisted. "You couldn't have known that my life would be in danger at the river. Surely you weren't intending to follow me until you could repay me. It was dangerous to do so; both Daeghun and Shayla are excellent trackers. They would have noticed your presence eventually, and they would not have been pleased to see you. Not after I assured them I had nothing to do with your escape."

"I was careful," he said, though he suddenly looked more hesitant.

"Kalan'Tel, please tell me why you were following me."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe not. But I can try. Please?"

He sighed, and crouched down beside the fire again. "Do you remember the things I told you I'd done? The things I did during raids on the surface, and back home, in the Underdark?" She closed her eyes for a moment, and nodded. She'd never get the mental images of those things out of her head, and it made her feel sick just thinking about them. But the dark elf seemed not to notice her discomfort. "At first, I was like any other drow in the Underdark. We live with pain every day of our lives. Punishment for failure is almost always lethal, but beatings are given regularly, particularly to those considered 'deserving'. Do you know anything of how our society works?"

"Only that it's evil. That's what my friends tell me, anyway."

"Maybe it is. I feel like I don't know what evil is anymore. Am I evil? Are my people evil? Are the illithids or the beholders evil? But I digress. In our society, Lolth is the goddess revered above all others. She blesses her priestesses with magic, much like yours, except designed to inflict pain as well as cure it. Only women can become high servants of Lolth. Men can only hold power by becoming mages or favoured fighters of houses, but even then, the power they hold pales in comparison to that of the Matron Mothers, the leaders of the drow houses. Daughters grow up plotting to overthrow their mothers and out-live their sisters. Sons are encouraged to fight and though they have rivalry, it's not always as deadly as that of their sisters. My family was like any other. I have two older sisters, one younger, and two older brothers, the third of which having been sacrificed to Lolth after he was born, as is customary. You look pale. Are you ill?"

"Do I really need to know about the sacrifices?" she asked, feeling her skin go cold and clammy as another ripple of nausea passed through her.

"I was merely trying to give you an impression of the upbringing I had. I'll try to skip the worst of it from now on. As I said, I was no different to any drow. I relished the beatings I gave to the slaves on behalf of the Matrons, and suffered whenever I was the recipient of those beatings. But I never, ever questioned it. This was simply the way life was, and had always been. Then, something changed."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I woke up one morning and felt a dull ache in my stomach. At first I thought I'd been poisoned, but the pain disappeared after a while. It returned, however, whenever I committed an act of violence. At the same time, I started experiencing... unpleasant visions, during my reverie. All elves, even my kin, enter a trance instead of a true sleep, in which we relive our memories. I relived mine, but they were twisted. I saw the faces of my victims screaming in pain. They chased me wherever I fled, and wailed so loudly that I could no longer reach true trance. At first I thought the visions and memories were being sent to me by the Spider Queen. I thought she was punishing me for something, or testing me. One day, I did something I had never done before in my life. I asked 'why'.

"That night, I didn't have the visions of horror. Instead, a new vision came to me. A vision of a dark maiden wreathed in silver moonlight. She spoke to no words that I could hear, but I knew immediately who she was. Eilistraee, the outcast goddess of the drow. She reached into my mind and filled it with the moonlight, and her presence warmed and comforted me. Over the next few weeks and months, I came to learn from her that my pain and the bad visions weren't sent by a god, but were conjured from within myself. My body and my mind, without me being aware of it, were rebelling against the things I had done. In time, the feelings grew stronger. I had no word for the pain, at the time, but Eilistraee taught one to me; sympathy. What I was feeling was sympathy for my victims. But I still didn't know why. I thought maybe I had gone wrong somewhere, or had been born wrong. In our society, love and sympathy are non-existent. Offspring who show such traits are killed or turned into driders."

"Driders?"

"They are drow, mutilated and transformed, given the bodies of spiders and used to hunt-"

"Forget I asked. I don't know to know. But you still haven't told me where I come into all of this."

"I was getting to that part. As I said, I didn't know why this was happening to me. I asked Eilistraee to help me understand. She sent me to a woman, a former Matron Mother whose house had been all but wiped out by a rival. This woman had once venerated Lolth, but since the downfall of her house, had secretly changed her allegiance to Eilistraee. Her rival had allowed her to live to serve as a living warning to her other enemies, that she would not be crossed. But she hadn't known that the woman no longer worshipped Lolth, and the woman slowly began to help me understand why I felt as I did. She told me that long ago, when the elves and their gods cast us down to the Underdark, they made a mistake. They cast down all dark elves regardless of whether they were under the influence of Lolth and her infernal allies. Over time, the woman told me, dormant tendencies were arising within the drow whose blood had not been contaminated with demon's blood. These tendencies were quick to manifest, always appearing in childhood, but such children, as I already mentioned, were usually done away with because of their... weakness. A few lucky ones, like me, manage to avoid detection through duplicity, but it's too dangerous for us to live together, or to even socialise together. We must live apart and alone, pretending to be something we are not, for our own protection."

Esme nodded. She knew exactly how he felt. Even now, she was living a lie, though it was an unspoken one. She could never tell Shayla and the others what she was. She could never let the world know that she was a child of Bhaal, or they would do to her what they had done to Kalan'Tel. They would put her in a cage and let her die for what she was.

"The day before I left my home for the surface, the woman was captured. I knew that somebody had discovered what she was, and that she would only be able to with-stand torture for so long. I knew I had to leave, but I also knew that I would be safe nowhere in the Underdark, unless I wished to live as an outcast. So, armed with the knowledge of an impending raid, I came to the surface, hoping to do some good. You know what happened next. I was careless, and was captured. In my cage, I was ready to die. But as I tried to embrace death, I felt Eilistraee blocking my way. She would not allow my spirit to leave my body. She simply told me to be patient, that she would help me. I didn't believe her. I thought I was beyond help. Then I felt a presence watching me. It was warm, and comforting. Believing that the goddess herself had manifested, I opened my eyes, but instead of Eilistraee, I saw you. And in your eyes I saw the same compassion that I felt from her. It was only after you freed me, as I set out on the path you showed me, that I realised she had sent you to me. That's when I turned back and waited for you to leave. I followed you because I need to know why you saved me. I need to know what makes you special and different to the other surfacers who wouldn't even hear my story, much less believe it. I want to know why the goddess chose you to heal my wounds and set me free. And I need your knowledge of the surface world, if I am to survive here. So you see, my reasons for saving you from the river are not as honourable as you may have first thought. It's knowledge that I seek from you, so that my curiosity is sated."

"I don't know what to say," she said at last. "I'm not special, not at all. Don't get me wrong, I think everybody is unique, but I'm just me."

"You're the first surfacer who's spoken to me as an equal, and not as if I'm some sort of vermin to be exterminated. You're the only one who brought me food and water when I was inside the cage. You're the one who freed me."

"Technically, Kiree picked your lock."

"But I'm sure you had to convince her. I don't need to thank you. I've already done that by saving your life, as you saved mine. But I need to know why."

"I was raised to believe that suffering is unnecessary. That when something is in pain, it should be put out of its pain one way or the other."

"But I asked you to help me end my pain, and you refused."

"Because I believed you were innocent of the crime you were accused of. I don't know what else to tell you. I was taught to have compassion for others. And I don't have any prior experience of drow, to taint my opinions. These factors were all fortunate for you, but Eilistraee didn't send me, and she didn't chose me to heal you."

"She did. I felt her energy as you took away my pain. I felt her warmth flowing through you, and in to me."

"I need to sleep," she said, lying back down on the hard earth. Simply talking was taking up too much of her strength, and she was far too tired to argue with him now. "If I can sleep, I might be able to heal myself afterwards when I wake. Then I can find my friends." The drow said nothing as she closed her eyes, and before long the soothing play of the firelight had sent her off into a deep sleep.

o - o - o - o - o

When she awoke, her first sight was of light flashing across something metallic. She opened her eyes fully and peered through the flames, and saw Kalan'Tel drawing and sheathing the sword that Haluar had given to her, watching the way the firelight played across the blade. Trying to ignore the haziness of her still-waking mind, she sat up and held out her hand.

"Give that to me," she said, more harshly than she thought herself capable of. Kalan'Tel paused only to re-sheath the weapon before handing it to her.

"I wasn't going to use it against you," he said as she snatched the sword to her chest. She shrugged. She didn't know how to say, exactly, that even if he had no intention of using it against her, she still didn't want him, or anybody else, touching the sword. Haluar had given it to her, and for some reason, she felt extremely possessive of it. Strange, because she'd never been possessive of anything in her life. "It's a fine blade," he continued. "Where did you get it from?"

"A friend gave it to me."

"I cleaned it for you. It got wet in the river, and eventually it would have rusted."

"Thank you," she said, suddenly guilty over her abruptness. After all, it wasn't his fault that she'd been knocked into the river. He'd had the decency to save her life and bandage her injuries. Of course he'd had to go through her pack to do it, and he was bound to have seen the sword sooner or later. She looked up to find him simply watching her, his red pupils unblinking as the firelight made dark shadows dance across his ebony skin, and she shifted on the hard floor, trying to make herself more comfortable. "What did you do, in the Underdark?" she asked. "Were you a warrior?"

"Yes."

"One of the favoured warriors you mentioned?"

"No, thankfully," he said with a snort.

"Why 'thankfully'? Didn't you say favoured drow have power?"

"Yes, but power is a double-edged knife. Those who have it don't want to lose it, and those who want it will try to take it from those that have it. It is an honour to be the favoured of a Matron Mother, but it is a deadly honour, one that can be revoked at great cost for the slightest infraction. Losing a fight, bringing dishonour to a house, failing to observe proper etiquette... these are all things that can cost a favoured warrior his life. The only fate worse than a favoured warrior is a favoured consort."

"Favoured consort?"

"As I said, drow who want power will do almost anything to seize it. One way is by tying themselves to more powerful houses. Matron Mothers and their daughters will often chose a new consort to father their children, or simply to replace one who has out-lived his usefulness. Usually, such males enjoy a brief experience of power and wealth before being cast back down when they fall out of favour. Sometimes, they're simply executed for some slight or other. Thankfully, it's usually the males who are considered the most handsome or have the greatest prowess in battle who are chosen for such means."

"Have you ever had the pleasure of being a consort?"

"Only once. An elder daughter of a small house saw me and desired me. One of her younger sisters knew of it and wanted to spite her, so she came to me first."

"Why didn't you just say no to both of them?"

"To refuse a priestess, even one of low power and status, is instant death," he shrugged. "I was lucky. The elder daughter discovered us together, the two sisters fought and killed each other. I fled and returned to my own house before I could be discovered. Fortunately, there are many males considered worthier than I for the role of consort."

"It doesn't sound like a good life for raising children," she said, thinking of her own childhood upheavals. "On the surface, mothers and fathers raise their children together. At least, in human society. Parents cherish their children, usually, and go to great pains to keep them safe from harm."

"In the Underdark, such actions would be considered weak and foolish. What are your parents like?"

"I don't know, they died when I was very young. I don't remember them. The man who raised me was a priest of Lathander. He was the one who instilled my values in me."

"I need to change your bandage," he said suddenly. "Yours is soaked."

"Will you pass me the mirror in my pack?"

"It's broken."

"Then pass me one of the broken pieces."

"Why? What good will it do you?"

"I want to see how bad my injury is."

"Bad enough, but I don't think you'll die."

"Give me a piece of my mirror. Please."

He sighed, and walked towards a pile of broken glass she hadn't noticed before. Looking at it, she recognised fragments of different colours, from various bottles she used for her potions, as well as pieces of her broken mirror. He passed her the largest, and she looked into it, taking in the sight of the blood-soaked bandage. Slowly, she unfastened it and began to unwind it, and realised her mistake as blood began to pour from the deep, jagged gash on her head.

"Can you heal yourself yet?" he asked. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'll find a clean bandage," he said, and rooted through her pack. When he found one, she made him tie it tighter than the last one had been, because it was obvious he had little or no experience of treating injuries. When he tried to make her lie down to rest, she insisted on sitting up, and explained that lying down would simply cause the blood to flow out faster. She needed to remain sitting up-right so that her heart would find it more difficult to pump the blood up to the wound. She also told him what to do in case she went into shock. After he'd given her a generous helping of water from her canteen, he retreated to the other side of the fire, and put more wood on it.

"How long has it been since you saved me from the river?" she asked.

"Almost a day."

"A day! My friends should be here soon, then. I must have been washed some way down-river, but it won't take them too much longer to find me. How far away from the river are we?"

"An hour's journey or so," he said, feigning concentration on the fire that didn't need any more poking.

"On which bank?" she asked, cold suspicion winding its way through her mind.

"The far bank. The one you were trying to reach."

"Then they should have found me by now. Why haven't they found me?"

"I covered our tracks as I brought you here," he admitted.

"What? Why?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you, and I knew that your friends would never give me that chance. I had to get you alone."

"Am I your prisoner, then?"

For a moment, he didn't reply. He simply watched her, with the flames of the fire dancing in his red eyes. She recalled likening Haluar and Tirisar to wolves; if that was the case, then Kalan'Tel was something much worse. The things he'd done in the past... she doubted that even Tirisar would do those things. To kill humans was one thing, but to torture for fun, or at the command of another? How could any creature that claimed ownership of a soul do such a thing?

"For the moment, yes," he said at last.

"And what do you think your goddess will think about that?"

"I won't hurt you, Esmerelle. I will trust you not to run, so I won't tie you or restrict your movement in any way. But I _must_ have your knowledge. I must know how the surface world works. Eilistraee sent you to me. She will not mind. Afterwards, I'll help you to find your friends. You have my word."

"Why are you so desperate to understand how the surface world works?"

"Because I can never go home," he said bluntly. "And even if I could... I'm not sure that I want to."

"You'd prefer to live as an outcast on the surface than in the Underdark?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"On the surface, I may be killed for what I am. In the Underdark, I will be killed for what I am not. If I must die, then at least here I can die beneath the stars and the sky. I'd never seen a sky, until I went on my first raid."

She watched his face as he stared at the flames of the fire, and knew that he was remembering. She was experiencing mixed feelings about him; on the one hand, she wanted to help him, but on the other, he was technically holding her prisoner. If she didn't tell him what he wanted to know, how far would his promise hold? For how long would he keep her there? If she had to fight her way to freedom... unless she regained her control of magic both divine and arcane, she wouldn't stand a chance against him. For now, she was stuck. She couldn't risk trying to run away, because then he probably _would_ bind her, and if he did that, she'd struggle to use magic. Perhaps when she was better recovered, she could use a spell of sanctuary to leave without interruption. In the mean time, she would have to keep him talking. She would have to appear sympathetic to his cause.

"Tell me about it," she said. "Your first raid."

"Why?"

"It's obviously an important memory for you. Besides, if you want me to share my knowledge of the surface, then you need to tell me more about yourself. It's how things work, on the surface. We share."

"Very well, if that is how it must be. It was many years ago now..."

"Just how old are you?"

"Young enough that most of my people would consider me little more than a child." She nodded. He reminded her a little of the wild-elf twins, Valear and Kirsan, who were both amongst the youngest warriors of the Wolfsbane tribe. "The first surface raid of any young warrior is considered an initiation, and the other four in my raiding party were seasoned veterans. I wasn't given a say about when and where the raid would take place, and to this day, I still don't know the name of the village we hit. But back then, I didn't care. I was just proud to be given the opportunity, to be given the chance to prove myself." As he spoke, the flames of the fire reflected in his black pupils, dancing like tiny figures. "We'd been instructed to bring back slaves, so we went first to a farmstead. It was winter. The air was cold upon my skin, colder than anything I'd ever experienced before. I could feel every link of my chain armour where it touched me, and I wondered how anybody could live in that temperature. I'd been told that humans were weak, and it was a surprise to me that they would choose to endure the cold instead of moving their farm elsewhere. Then I saw the moon, colouring everything it touched with its cold, beautiful light. Long blades of frost-touched grass looked like hundred of tiny knives to me, and I thought it unfair that my people miss out on seeing such sights.

"I remember hearing a noise like rothe, and I saw a barn with what you call 'cows' in it. But they were useless to me, so I ignored them as they ignored me, and I followed the rest of the warriors to the home of the farmer. There I was told of the plan. I was to enter the house and scare the humans, to make them run outside where the rest of my party would be waiting to snap them up. It was easy. The humans were complacent. One of the ground floor windows wasn't locked, so I stole inside. They had a dog in the house, and when it saw me, it barked, so I slit its throat. Then I made my way upstairs, but by then the family was alert to my presence. The farmer came at me with a simple farming weapon, and fought me whilst shouting at his family to flee. Of course, I let him think he was winning, and gave his wife time to chivvy their three young sons outside where my kin were waiting. When I judged the time right, I easily overcame him, running him through the heart with my sword."

As he spoke, Esme felt her mouth go dry. He was doing such an accurate job of describing the events, that in her mind she could see everything playing out, and it horrified her. But he wasn't finished.

"As I was preparing to leave, to rejoin my party with the slaves they'd captured, I heard something from another room in the house. A hushed whimpering. Somebody had been left behind, I realised. I followed the sound and came to a bedroom, and pushing the door open I found a young woman. She couldn't have been any older than you are now, and it was the first time I'd ever stopped to truly examine a human. Don't get me wrong, I'd seen many of them before, slaves in the Underdark, but by the time they're there they're broken and bedraggled and their spirits have been crushed. I'd never seen a free human before. She had long, clean blonde hair, and eyes the colour of warm oak bark. Her skin was pale and flawless, almost white in the cold moonlight. Here eyes were red from crying the tears which spilled down her cheeks, and I could tell by the way she clasped the blanket protectively around her that she was terrified." She saw his hands clench involuntarily, and he jumped up from the fire. "I have to go and check on something," he said, whirling out of the cave.

Esme let out the breath she had been holding. She knew that there was nothing for Kalan'Tel to check. He'd left because he was afraid to face her, to face the truths within himself. He was, she realised, a broken man. Everything that he'd known had been turned upside down, and it was quite possible that he hadn't realised, before now, how hard it would be to change, to live as something that his entire society had told him he shouldn't be. How in Lathander's name was she supposed to help him? She didn't have any experience of these sorts of situations! Then again, possibly nobody else did either. How often was it that a drow decided he didn't want to be a drow anymore?

Was this Lathander's doing? She was convinced her god had wanted her to help Kalan'Tel escape in the first place. Did He also want her to help him? And really, who better to help a drow to find himself than a follower of the Lord of the Morning? Didn't He teach about forgiveness and rebirth, after all? Well, she didn't know _why_ Lathander wanted her to help Kalan'Tel, but if it was what He wanted, then she would do it, even if Shayla and Lucas and the others wouldn't approve.

When the drow returned, he was still agitated, pacing the floor of the cave like a caged beast. For the moment he seemed to have forgotten her presence as he struggled with his own thoughts and emotions. As a sensitive person, she could almost feel his distress as if it was her own, and she knew that unless she calmed him down, she'd get no more out of him than he'd already given.

"Kalan'Tel," she said, "we're all capable of doing terrible things. That's why we have jails. If we humans were perfect, without sin or flaw, then we would have no need for them."

"You don't understand," he said, slumping down in front of the fire and giving her a wretched look. "It's not just my actions that sicken me. It's my feelings about them."

"Tell me what happened," she coaxed gently. "I can't promise that I won't judge you, but if I'm to help you, as you believe Eilistraee wants me to, then I have to know about you."

"And if you decide that I'm no longer worthy of your help?"

"Do you sincerely want to change?"

"Yes."

"Then you are worthy."

"Do you recall what I said, about how drow men rarely find power unless they are strong warriors or powerful wizards?"

"I do."

"When I saw that young woman, terrified of me... that was the first time I experienced a feeling of power. Nobody had ever been frightened of me before, and it was like a drug." He stared at the flames, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze, and seemed to grow smaller and smaller as he sat there. "Suddenly, I didn't just want her to be afraid of me, I wanted her to fear me more than anything she would ever fear in her life. I decided to take her right there and then. She tried to fight me, of course, and that only increased my own enjoyment. It was something I could never have done to a drow woman, because it would have meant instant death. But up here, on the surface, I was free from such restraints. There was no drow matron to hold me back and punish me afterwards, and none of the warriors with me would have told me it was wrong, because in their minds, it was simply a right. And the worst part was, it wasn't the woman who excited me, but the feeling of strength and power that came with knowing I could do whatever I wanted. I _liked_ that feeling."

When he looked up, she saw something in his eyes that she didn't like; a beast lurking in the red depths, cheered on by the flames that danced in his pupils, and she suddenly realised why Shayla had been so vehement in her denouncement of the drow. She felt her grip instinctively tighten on the elven sword in her hands. '_Vyshaan,_' she whispered under her breath. Kalan'Tel glared at her in defiance.

"Your insult is accurate," he said, and allowed his face to soften. "That is what I was. It took me a long time to feel regret over what I did on my first raid, and even longer to remember the beauty of the sky above me that evening. Do you see why I need your help?"

"What happened to her? The woman?" she asked, not really wanting to know.

"I don't know. I left her in the bedroom where I found her. For some reason, it seemed important that she not become a slave. When I left, I told the rest of the raiding party with me that there was nobody left alive in the house. We took the mother and three sons back to the Underdark as slaves. I can see in your eyes the horror and disgust you feel about the things I have done. For me, it is ten times worse, because I must relive these things every time I reverie, and I must live with my own shame and regret. You may think that I deserve my fate, and believe me, if I thought my death would make things right, I would gladly return to Red Larch and turn myself over. But my death wouldn't undo the damage I have done, so perhaps, by living, I can do some good in the world. Knowing now what you know about me, will you still help me?"

"I need to think about it," she said. "I could use some fresh food. Why don't you go and find us an animal or something, or bring back some fruits? It's summer, after all, there's bound to be something nearby to eat."

She watched as Kalan'Tel left in silence, and felt more conflicted about him than anything she'd felt before. One the one hand, he seemed genuine enough about wanting to change. But he'd done so many terrible things... was he too far gone to absolve himself? She wished Aggie or Eldon were there to advise her. Right now, she could use a little unbiased wisdom.

She didn't intend to fall asleep, but she'd lost so much blood, and she was so exhausted by events of the past day and night, that she couldn't help herself. Closing her eyes, and clutching the elven sword to her chest, she drifted off to sleep.

o - o - o - o - o

_A/N - Sorry it took so long for an update. "Real life" and stuff._


	22. Dreams

Chapter 22.

Dreams

_"Ordinary riches can be stolen: real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you."_ - Oscar Wilde

o - o - o - o - o

_The grass beneath Esme's feet was soft and springy. Where she stepped, flowers bloomed around her, living briefly and brightly for a few precious seconds before dying away, only to be reborn an instant later. Overhead in the sky, something bright and fiery screamed, and the world was plunged into darkness as grey ash fell around her. Then, fire grew from the ash, and flames flew up into the sky, making the sun whole again, a never-ending cycle of day and night, birth and rebirth._

_ A tall oak tree stood on the horizon, with a single figure seated cross-legged before it. She approached the figure and recognised Shayla; the shaman was sitting with her eyes closed, her staff, carved runes glowing blue with inner power, resting across her knees._

_ "What are you doing here?" she asked._

_ Shayla opened her eyes, but where before they had been vivid blue, they were now white as egg-shells, unseeing and all-seeing. "I'm watching," the elf replied._

_ "Watching what?"_

_ Shayla said nothing, but simply gestured towards the tree._

_ "Why?"_

_ "Because it is an illusion."_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ "The tree. It isn't a tree. It is life, and life is never complete. It doesn't begin and end. It continues forever. There is no death and no birth, only continual growth. We simply call it 'tree' because we are small and short-sighted."_

_ "I don't understand."_

_ "And you never will," said a nearby voice. It was Lucas, sitting on a decaying log which was sinking into the ground. Poised with his flute in his hands, he seemed not to notice that his seat, and he along with it, was descending into the earth. "It's like the songs, see? They never actually get finished. Oh, for a lifetime or two we tell ourselves that they're complete, but as soon as we're dead, somebody else comes along and thinks they know better. Somebody like Volothamp, who thinks he can know such things."_

_ "Then why try to capture them at all?" she asked, thinking that he was making even less sense than usual._

_ "For that brief moment of fame and understanding, of course. Why else?"_

_ "I don't understand what you mean."_

_ "What he's saying is this." Now Belvar was speaking as he sat at a desk surrounded by books and parchments. "It doesn't matter what you know, or you think you know, because when you're gone, no matter how the battle went, some other bastard will come along and re-write history. We can't ever know the past, see. We can only interpret it. And if the people of the future can only interpret the past, which is our present, then even our present is a lie. Ergo, it doesn't matter what we do, as long as we write something down. Even if it's not real, who's to know? Those in the future? They weren't here. They can't argue with us, because we're long dead."_

_ "You're saying that what we do now will have no effect on the future, because people will always lie about it?"_

_ "Not 'will always lie', but 'can always lie', if it doesn't suit them. The present only lasts as long as now. Once now is over, the present is the past, and the next now becomes the future."_

_ "Of course 'now' matters," said another voice. She turned, and saw Duncan, who had spoken, seated opposite Daeghun. As she watched them, their faces flickered, Daeghun becoming Duncan, and Duncan becoming Daeghun. "F'r'example, imagine if my mother hadn't given up her son. Then I would never have been born, because she never would have run away from her responsibility."_

_ "And now," said Daeghun, who was also Duncan, "imagine if she had raised Duncan and I together. Then Shayla and I would never have met, and everything that is, would cease to be."_

_ "Quite a conundrum," Lucas agreed._

_ "But no less of an illusion because of it," Shayla added._

_ "Not so much an illusion as a subjective analysis of events," amended Belvar._

_ "Why aren't any of you making sense?" Esme shouted in frustration._

_ "Temper temper," said Kiree with a grin. "Just 'cos you don't know what's happening doesn't mean it doesn't make sense. Ever think of that?"_

_ "But I don't understand what anybody's saying."_

_ "I'll make it easy for ya, then," Kiree said, bending over and scooping up a stone from the ground. She tossed it into the air and bounced it several time on her delicate hand. "This is a rock, aye? But it didn't always used to be a rock, and it won't always be a rock. Once upon a time it was just soil and bits of dead stuff, and in time, it'll become soil and bits of dead stuff again. 'Rock' is simply the name we give it at this given time. It's the nature of reality, aye? To be mutable and unknowable. Think of it like maps. You'll look at a map today and pick Cormyr as your destination. But in a thousand years, Cormyr won't exist anymore. It'll have been razed to the ground, or absorbed by some other land, or maybe its rulers will have changed its name. Words are just ephemeral, because everything is changing, constantly, all the time. You, me, that tree, this rock. It's just that things move too slowly, or too quickly, for us to fully see or comprehend, so we apply names to things in an attempt to understand them. Understand?"_

_ "You listen to me, girlie," said Aggie, appearing from the High Forest with her walking stick in hand and stout boots on her feet. "People don't know half as much as they think they know, and they usually understand less than a quarter of what they think they do. You can't be living your life by what other people expect of you, otherwise you'll just be some poor man's reflection of the truth."_

_ "You're all hurting my head," Esme complained, closing her eyes and pressing against the pressure points on her temple with her thumbs. "Just go away and leave me be! I'll make my own decisions, I don't need you all confusing me."_

_ The landscape blurred around her, and she closed her eyes. Only when she felt the world stand still, and heard the crackling of a fire, did she open them again. Before her she saw a small cave, but she watched as if from above. A figure was seated by the fire, and when she focused on it, she moved inwards towards it. Its skin was dark and its hair white, and it had red pin-prick eyes. It pushed sticks of burning wood around in the flames of the fire using a longer stick as a poker._

_ "What's this?" asked a voice behind her. "Fraternising with the enemy?"_

_ "Is he my enemy?" she asked, turning around to face Haluar. _

_ "I don't know."_

_ "You don't know? Aren't you going to give me some pearls of wisdom about how reality isn't actually real, or something? That's what everybody else has done."_

_ "No, I think you've had enough of that for one night. And the reason I don't know, is because you confuse things. I used to know a lot. I used to know myself, my family, my people. I used to know that humans were all short-sighted and greedy, and that what claimed to be civilised was usually a veneer. Now I have to learn things all over again."_

_ "Learn things all over again? Just like that?"_

_ "It can be done, though it isn't easy." He stepped forward, his hand cupping her face as his lips found her cheek. "It's time to wake up, Esmerelle," he whispered. "Wake up, Esmerelle."_

o - o - o - o - o

"Wake up, Esmerelle."

Esme looked up to find a pair of red eyes looking down at her. Instinctively, she drew the sword in her hands, and the eyes quickly moved away as Kalan'Tel stepped back. She blinked in pain at the sunlight streaming in through the mouth of the cave behind him, and guiltily sheathed the weapon once more. It wasn't as if she knew how to use it, anyway.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "You kept saying 'why' in your sleep. I thought you might be in distress."

"I was having strange dreams... but I'm glad you woke me. I didn't realise it was morning already. Has there been any sign of my friends?" As she spoke, she put down the sword and felt the bandage around her head. It was dry but stiff, which meant she'd been bleeding but it had probably stopped. Not a good idea to remove it, then, in case it started again. She'd just have to leave it on until Shayla could heal her... or until she could heal herself.

"No. I think they went to the other shore. The one you started from. Possibly they went down-stream to look for you. They'll cross over, eventually."

"Alright, look," she said, pulling herself up into a more comfortable sitting position. "I know you want me to help you, that you want to know how to survive on the surface, but there's only so much I _can_ tell you. _I'm_ still learning about how to survive on the surface, and I was born here! Learning about this isn't something I can teach you in days, or weeks, or years. It's a life-time thing, and as a human, I will never live anywhere near as long as you. So I will try to give you advice as best I can, but I won't do it whilst sitting here like an invalid or as your prisoner. You're going to take me back to my friends, even if you have to spend the rest of your life tracking them down, got it?"

"You give me little choice," he said at last. "Though I don't think you're well enough to travel yet."

"I'll be the judge of that. You're a warrior, and I'm a healer. Leave such decisions to me, and I will leave the finding of my friends to you."

"I suggest we leave now, then. We might have far to travel, though if we follow the river we should find some sign of your friends before too long."

She nodded, and cautiously pushed herself to her feet, not fully expecting the dizziness that passed over her mind, nor the feeling of nausea that accompanied it. She kept hold of the sword and watched as Kalan'Tel quickly packed away the few non-broken possessions she had left into her bag. Her red dress, she was sorry to see, was stained with river water, but it got packed away nontheless. As did what remained of the rations Belvar had bought in Red Larch, her damp fire-starting kit, a spare pair of shoes and the several remaining potion bottles.

"I will carry your bag, so that you do not slow us down," he said, hoisting the pack onto his back.

"First of all," she said, slowly edging her way towards the cave entrance, "it's impolite to imply that somebody might slow you down. And you should _ask_ permission to carry a lady's bags."

"But you are injured. You will slow us whether I carry your bag or not..."

"That's not the point. You want to learn about the surface? Well don't complain if you don't like what you learn. You can go back to the Underdark whenever you like, you know. I'm sure they'll be much more forgiving than we surfacers."

"I apologise," he said, though he didn't sound very sorry.

As she stepped out into daylight, she shielded her eyes with her hand. The sunlight was particularly harsh after a day in the cave, and it wasn't helped by the migraine she was currently experiencing. Still, the sun itself was warm, and she felt soothed by Lathander's light. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten in hours.

"I'm hungry," she said aloud. "First, we should find some food."

"I picked these yesterday, as you requested," he said, dipping his hand into a pouch on his belt and offering her some small red berries.

She picked one out and looked at it in horror. "You didn't eat any, did you?"

"No, I wasn't sure if I'd like them."

"Good, because they're yew berries. The seeds inside them are poisonous."

"You have a knowledge of poisons?"

"No, I have a knowledge of plants." She threw the berries onto the floor, knowing that birds would come along and eat them safely. "Will you go and see if you can find any other fruit? Apples or other berries?"

"I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave you alone out here. What if you collapse?" he said warily.

"Go and find some other food," she sighed, and he left without another word. She was starting to realise something about the drow; he responded best to orders, not requests or suggestions. Was that because he was a warrior, used to taking orders from his superiors, or because he was a drow male, used to taking orders from women? She didn't know, but clearly it worked in her favour either way.

For a few moments she cast around on the ground, looking for signs of Kalan'Tel's previous comings and goings. Surely if he'd carried - or, and this was infinitely more likely, dragged - her here from the river, there would be signs of it on the ground, something for Daeghun to follow. But the drow had spoken the truth the day before when he'd said it had rained. The ground was churned to mud in places with the force of the previous night's downpour, and if it was this damp here, then it had probably washed away their tracks elsewhere. She was also uneasily aware that some of her friends might also have been injured, as she had. Before going over the edge she had _definitely_ seen both Lucas and Belvar lose their grip on the rope. If they'd gone over the falls and been hurt... Daeghun and Shayla would never leave anybody injured to find somebody who was missing and possibly dead. The fact that she hadn't already been rescued from her 'captor' suggested that something else had gone wrong after the river had dragged her under.

Slowly, she set off in the direction of down-river, moving cautiously because Kalan'Tel was right; she _was_ feeling week and dizzy, and she would no doubt slow down their progress. But she couldn't spend another night in that cave, knowing that Daeghun and the others might pass her by. At least out here she could make tracks which could be followed. At least out here she stood a chance of being found.

The drow caught up with her shortly after, carrying several partially ripened fruits in his arms. "I found these," he said. "Is this what you wanted?"

"They're pears, but they'll do," she said, taking one from him and leaning against a tree trunk to rest as she started her meagre breakfast. "Is my prayer book still in my pack?" she asked.

"There is no book. Some things fell out in the river, I think. You're lucky your sword didn't," he said, eyeing the weapon in her hand. "Tell me about your god."

"Lathander is the Lord of the Morning. His followers cherish light and creation, and abhor the undead," she said by rote.

"And do all of his followers show compassion and mercy, as you have to me?"

"Most probably wouldn't," she admitted reluctantly. "Your people have a reputation, after all. But I believe in second chances. None of us can help who or what we are born... all we decide is whether or not we want to be good people. I do, and if you do, I want to help you if I can."

"The surface is very different than how I imagined," he sighed. "Even though I've been here on raids, the thought of living here is... daunting. It's always so bright, and the people are so loud. In the Underdark, hidden blades and silent kills are preferred. Nobody laughs or sings in public, unless the laugh is one of mirthless cruelty, or the song about the downfall of surfacers. No offence," he added as an afterthought.

"Don't your people have any works of art?"

"Yes, but they're... probably not something you would be able to appreciate. Spiders are revered as beautiful and deadly messengers of Lolth, and as such, much of our artwork and architecture revolves around them. Our songs tend to be grim battle chants, and our games are fast and deadly. The woman I met in the Underdark, the one who disappeared before I came here, told me of poetry and love and dancing, and these are the things I thought to seek out when I arrived. Instead I was put in a cage no larger than the one I had just escaped, only it was a physical cage of iron, instead of a cage of social restrictions. Now that I'm out of it, I won't be caged again," he said fiercely.

She watched him as he spoke, and wondered, not for the first time, what she was getting herself into. Though Kalan'Tel was unarmed, and so far hadn't shown any violent tendencies, he looked terribly out of place in the forest. His black clothes over his dark skin, and his contrasting white hair, made him stand out against the natural backdrop. He wanted so much to change, but seemed unable to grasp even the basics of finding edible food. What was she supposed to _do_ with him? It wasn't as if she could just magic the knowledge of the surface world into his head and send him on his way. Nothing she taught him would be enough to help him survive, and if Shayla and the others found her with him before she'd finished trying to help him, then she'd be in deep, deep trouble.

"You look pensive," said Kalan'Tel. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm just thinking about how much trouble I'll be in when the others find us. Shayla _really_ doesn't like drow."

"If they were true friends, they would trust you, and accept your judgement," he pointed out. "Besides, I saved your life. That should count for something."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" she sighed. "Come on, we'd better get moving again. Which way to the river?"

"That way," he said, pointing through the trees. "About an hour's walk."

"You know," she said as they set out again. "You should find something different to wear. Right now, as you are, you look too... drow."

"But it's what I am."

"Yes, that's the problem. You are drow, and people will always see a drow when they look at you, and they'll always be afraid and suspicious. If you dressed more like other people, perhaps you could initially pass yourself off as a dark-skinned man."

"But I am drow," he said, his brows drawn in confusion. "If I wanted to be something I'm not, I wouldn't have left the Underdark. Even if I change my appearance, I won't change peoples' opinions of me. They'll still hate and fear the drow. And if I'm not drow, then what am I?"

"Look, I don't think you've really thought this whole endeavour through very well," she said, reminding herself to be patient with him. "You don't want to be drow, because the drow are evil. But you don't want to be not drow, because then you don't know what you'd be. You're going to have to make your mind up at some point."

"Why can't I just be me?"

"Because this isn't an ideal world, and people will always judge you for how you look."

"You didn't."

"But I'm not the standard! You've seen in Red Larch how other people will act."

"Are you considered beautiful?"

"What?" she asked, completely nonplussed by the change of direction.

"Are you what other surfacers consider 'beautiful'?"

"What does that have anything to do with... anything?"

"I'm trying to make a point. Will you answer the question?"

"Beauty is entirely subjective," she replied, unsure about how to answer. "No doubt some people would find me beautiful, where others would find me plain, or average at best."

"And if you desired to make yourself appear more beautiful, would you do so? Might you change the way you wear your hair, or put on more revealing clothing to accentuate your body?" She didn't need to reply; her guilty blush said it all. That's just what she _had_ done, in Silverymoon with Kiree. Especially when she knew she'd be seeing Elim. "But at what point does that appearance become a lie? Yes, you might look beautiful if you change your appearance, but when you take away the clothes and the hair and everything else, underneath it all, you're still you. Why should I go to all the trouble of trying to disguise who I am, if I want people to like me for who I am, not who I pretend to be?"

"I'm not saying you should change who you are," she offered feebly, "I'm just telling you the reality of life. You'll be judged on your appearance before anything else."

"And I won't win hearts nor minds by donning green or pink instead of black and trying to pass myself off as a dark-skinned human," he said firmly. "By the way, your half-elven friend thinks you are beautiful. I watched the way he acted around you, when I was following your group."

"What Duncan thinks of me is of no concern to you," she said, a tad more sharply than she'd intended. Hearing what she already knew from Haluar had been confirmation enough, she didn't need to hear it from the drow, too.

"Am I not to speak the truth, then? Is this another surfacer custom?"

"There's nothing wrong with the truth. You just need to learn when to speak it and when to keep it to yourself. Anyway, if the Underdark really is the place of treachery and deception that you say it is, surely you should already be more than adept at lying."

"There are, as you say, times when it is prudent to keep the truth to yourself. But I would never, for example, lie to a priestess of Lolth."

"About anything other than the fact that you no longer worship Lolth and consider the rest of your people to be cruel and unjust, of course."

"Other than that, no. Deception to a priestess is usually punishable by death. If it's caught."

"What will your family think about your disappearance? Will they miss you?" she asked, thinking of how frantic Eldon had looked the night he'd arrived at Aggie's cottage.

"Miss me? No, I doubt it very much. Very few drow will admit to such a weakness as longing or regret. Most likely my absence has already been missed, and I've been branded a traitor. Any one of my family would kill me as soon as they saw me. To do otherwise would invite their own death if another drow found out."

"They'd kill you just to save themselves?" she asked, horrified at the thought of parents killing their children.

"It's how our society works," he said with a shrug. "The strong survive and the weak perish."

"I don't think you're weak. The fact that you're still alive after spending so much time in the Underdark living a life of lies proves it. And the fact that you're here, on the surface, a place that is hostile and unfamiliar to you, speaks of your courage."

"Thank you, but I don't have courage," he said, transferring his gaze to the ground as he walked. "If I did, I would not have left my home. I would have stayed, and tried to change it."

"Lucas says that the difference between a brave man and a coward is simply that a brave man has the courage to stand up to his own fears while a coward runs from them. But he also says that a brave man who can't tell when the battle is lost is a fool. You're just one man, Kalan'Tel. You can't change an entire people. Have a little faith in your goddess, too. She's already spoken to you; how many others do you think she is whispering to even now? Surely not all of your people can be tainted with infernal blood. There must be more who have the courage to save themselves, the courage to stand up and say 'no more', as you did."

"I hadn't thought of that," he said with a look of consternation. "I've been so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn't even consider that maybe others are starting to hear Eilistraee's voice. Do you really think that more of them might begin to change their minds?"

"Anything's possible where gods are concerned."

"Thank you, Esmerelle," he said, and smiled for the first time since she'd met him. "Your words have given me hope."

o - o - o - o - o

Esmerelle stared down in dismay at the swirling, bloated bulk of the river. The currents and eddies which had previously been churning angrily were now roaring violently. As she watched, she saw a boulder washed down-stream, the force of the water rolling it along the river bed. It was followed a few moments later by the bloated corpse of a cow.

"It rained a lot last yesterday," Kalan'Tel explained when he saw her look of horrified awe. "I wasn't sure how much the river would flood. That's why I moved you to the cave. I judged it far enough away to not be affected by the rising waters."

"Have my friends been here?"

He glanced at the muddy ground and shrugged. "If they were, they wouldn't have stayed for very long. The waters have receded somewhat in the past few hours. When I last came here for water, where we are now stood was submerged. It's more likely they went further downstream to look for you. After I pulled you from the river, I took you back upstream to where the cave was."

"How did you even know that the cave was there?"

"I asked a spider."

"Ah." She should have seen that one coming. "By the way, where did you learn to swim?"

"There is a lake near my home in the Underdark. When I was a child, and oblivious to the dangers which lurked beneath its waters, I used to swim in it."

"There are lakes in the Underdark?" she said, unable to mask her surprise.

"Vast underground lakes, and even rivers connecting them, yes. Tell me, you ask many questions about my home and family, yet you offer little insight into your own."

"There's very little to tell," she said with a shrug. "My parents died when I was very young. I was raised first by priests of Lathander, and then my grandmother took over my care." It was the story that he had told so often to herself and to others that it had ceased to become and lie and instead was a half-truth.

"I wish I could meet these people who raised you, and thank them for doing such a wonderful job of instilling you with compassion and empathy. It's no wonder Eilistraee chose you to free me from my prison. I wish I could repay you for your kindness," he said earnestly.

"You already have. You've saved my life. We're even."

"I don't consider this a bill to be settled, and we're certainly not 'even', as you call it. You did more than save my life. You opened my eyes and helped me to see that not everybody on the surface is angry and afraid. If for every hundred villagers of Red Larch there is one person like you, who is willing to listen and judge with their heart instead of their eyes, then perhaps there is a chance for me here, and for others like me in years to come. Without you, the crime would not have been that I died in that cage, but that I died ignorant of kindness and mercy. That you were a stranger to me when you showed me those things is simply all the more incredible. Did I say something wrong?" he asked with a frown. "You look uncomfortable at my words."

"I'm just not used to people being so... enthusiastic... about me," she said, feeling her cheeks heat a little. "I don't want you to think that living here is going to be easy. It won't be. Even for someone like me, it isn't easy, and I _look_ like everyone else. For all I know, there's not some understanding Esmerelle for every village like Red Larch. Maybe there's only one person like me for every city, or every country. Maybe I'm the only me in all the lands." As she spoke, she felt her head go dizzy, and her legs felt as if they were jelly. She started to slump to the floor, and was saved from a damp landing by Kalan'Tel catching her before she hit the ground.

"I told you you weren't fit for travel," he said, without even a hint of smugness in his voice. "Perhaps you should be the warrior, and I the healer."

"I just need to sit down for a minute. The sight of all that swirling water, and the smell of the dead things, was making me feel queasy," she lied.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and it isn't polite to contradict a lady," she said as he deposited her gently onto a long, worn boulder. "Especially not a lady who's not feeling a hundred percent well."

"And here I thought that would be the best time to be contradictory. If you don't mind me saying, I believe your friends were foolish in trying to cross the river as they did."

"We didn't have the benefit of hindsight," she said, feeling the need to defend her companions. "We didn't know that a tree was being washed down the river. We all make mistakes, and my friends and I are no different. I could say that I believe you were foolish for trying to warn the villagers of Red Larch about the drow raiding party."

"Would you have done any different, in my place?"

"Probably not. It was the right thing to do, foolish or not. We should go, now that I've got my sense of balance back," she said, and pushed herself slowly up. Kalan'Tel hovered close by, ready to catch her again if she showed any signs of wobbling. "Lead the way," she said, gesturing down-river.

He set a pace that wasn't too urgent, picking the easiest routes around any obstructions that appeared in their way. After an hour or so of walking in silence, she stopped again and ate another of the half-ripe pears, wishing that she also had some meat to go with it, and a cup of nice warm tea, and maybe a loaf of freshly baked bread...

"Have you given any thought about what you're going to do up here on the surface?" she asked, more to distract herself from thoughts of food than because of any real interest.

"Live, mostly."

"Yes, I get that. But live _how_? It's summer, and it's fairly easy to live off the land at the moment. But when winter comes, the temperature will drop, and there will be no food to forage and hunting will be difficult. You have no tent, no warm clothes, and no supplies. _How_ will you live?"

"Well, I am a warrior. Perhaps I can hire myself out as a sell-sword. Or perhaps I can become a labourer. How is it that you survive the winters?"

"In the past, I've always traded what I needed for winter, and survived by holing myself up in my grandmother's cottage. Now I suppose I'll stay in inns and taverns with my friends. But I'm not sure how easy you'd find it to sell your skills... you might have to travel very far, to find a place where people have never heard of the drow."

"Maybe I can find a village in need of protection from beasts," he shrugged. "I'm sure something will come along when I need it."

"How can you be so relaxed about your own future?"

"Because _you_ came along when I needed you. The goddess is watching over me, I told you."

"You could travel south and east, you know. The further north you go, the harsher the winters become. I think in the south, near Calimshan, the winters are almost as warm as the summers," she suggested, wondering if his darker skin colour would make him any more susceptible to the cold than she.

"Maybe I'll do that."

"I met somebody not long ago whose great-great-great grandmother was drow, or so he claimed."

"It happens, sometimes," Kalan'Tel shrugged. "Half-drow, unless they're particularly cunning and vicious, rarely survive long in the Underdark. They're normally ostracised, along with both parents."

"Once, what you just said would have shocked me. Knowing now what I do about your people, it doesn't even surprise me," she admitted, then stopped. "Could I have your hand for a moment?"

"For what reason?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

"Just humour me, please."

He raised his hand slowly and held it out to her, and she took it in her own. His hand was warm, but not overly so, and his skin was smooth, all signs of his previous beating undone by her healing of him. His fingers were long and slender; he had what Lucas would have called a harpist's hands. Each finger and thumb ended in a dark, white-tipped nail no different than her own nails, and only the palm and heel of his hand, where a sword would be held, showed any sign of callous.

"Huh," she mused quietly.

"What are you looking for?"

"You'd think me foolish if I told you," she said evasively.

"I promise I won't."

"Well... there was a time, when I was young and naïve, that I thought I'd be able to spot an evil man a mile away. I thought that evil would leave its mark upon not only a soul, but the body which contained that soul. But your skin doesn't burn or freeze to the touch, your nails aren't long and wickedly sharp, nor your hands red with the blood you've shed over the years. There's no outward mark of evil upon you."

"You're not foolish," he said, turning his hand around and taking hers in his. She looked up into his eyes, the colour of blood, and not for the first time shivered at what she saw behind them. "Sometimes, when we are young, we see the world for what it is really like, for what our eyes show us, instead of what our minds tell us. You were right; evil _does_ leave its mark, but I was marked long ago, when the first of my ancestors was cast down by the Seldarine. I'm marked by an ancient evil, and this was done as punishment, so that all who walk the surface will recognise what I am and hate me. But times are changing, I can feel it. The evil inside me no longer holds sway over me. I still bear the mark of evil, but you do not hate me, and slowly, over time, others will cease to hate me too. All it takes is one person to break the cycle of hatred, and that person is you. You may very well be the first person in the thousands of years since my ancestors were cast down into the Underdark to have the courage to believe differently. For that, I owe you much more than my life... I owe you the future of my people."

Her hand still in his gentle grip, he lent towards her and planted a soft kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes, her body and mind conflicting loudly with each other. Her mind screamed that she shouldn't let him touch her, that he was a monster, that he was more than capable of murder and rape, that he'd killed and enslaved men, women and children, and that by letting him kiss her she was dishonouring the multitude of people whose lives he'd ruined. Her body replied that he'd already had plenty of opportunity to abuse her trust; she'd been unconscious for most of the time she'd been with him, after all. Besides, dark skin and red eyes aside, he _was_ quite attractive.

_Oh, well,_ said her mind, _that's okay then. I mean, as long as he's _ attractive _ then it's okay. You wouldn't want to be kissed by an _ugly _ murderer after all, would you?_

**Be quiet**, said her body. **I'm entitled to be a little shallow, after everything I'd done and been through.**

_And what exactly are you going to do if you've given him the wrong message about exactly how far you're willing to let him go? It's not like you can defend yourself right now._

**I don't need to defend myself. Kalan'Tel is no longer a bad person. If I say stop, he'll stop.**

_Are you sure about that?_

He pulled his lips away from hers and she took a deep breath before opening her eyes. Yes, she was definitely getting the hang of kissing now, she thought, as her cheeks heated up at her own candidness. Then, her eyes slid past his face, to something being swirled around by the floodwaters, the force of the river banging it loudly against the rocks of the bank.

"Grab that!" she said, pointing at the object.

Obediently, he put down her pack and made his way towards the water's edge, stepping carefully on the damp, slippery logs. She held her breath as he leant out towards the length of smooth wood, and her heart only stopped fluttering wildly once he'd retrieved the thing and placed it in her hands.

"What is it?" he asked as she ran her fingers along the familiar carvings etched into the surface of the wood.

"It's Shayla's staff," she replied, as fear wove its icy tendrils around her heart.


	23. Two Banks

Chapter 23.

Two Banks

"_For every failure, there's an alternative course of action. You just have to find it. When you come to a roadblock, take a detour."_ - Mary Kay Ash

o - o - o - o - o

On the Dessarin river, a family of ducks played, ignoring the strangers nearby. People rarely came this way, and so the ducks had not learnt to fear people. Had they learnt their lesson, they may have been warier, or perhaps they simply sensed that the people were too cold, tired and bedraggled to be of any threat to them. The hen bobbed her head below the water, hunting around for river weed and tiny fish and beetles, encouraging the fluffy yellow and black chicks to mimic her as the drake watched over them protectively. And watching him was a pair of canny blue eyes that missed very little.

"_Gordul!_" The dwarven curse came loud, ruining the comparative silence of the grey afternoon and sending the family of ducks in a speedy retreat to the opposite bank of the river. Ah, to be a duck; they, at least, had no problems with the river. Even the chicks could navigate it well. Tiny fluffy things weighing barely an ounce, and yet they mastered the waters that overcame larger creatures. "Everything around here is just too wet!"

Lucas turned around from his observation of the ducks, and saw Belvar still crouching over the makeshift campfire, still futilely trying to coax a spark of life from the sodden wood. Each strike of his flint stone drew sizzles and hisses from the tinder, but no flames were forthcoming. Another curse rose into the air.

"You're wasting your time, my friend," Lucas said. "As you so colourfully said, everything here is just too wet. That's the third fire to go out in as many hours. Let it be."

"If there's one thing we dwarves know, it's rocks," said Belvar, still striking away. "But if there's another thing we know, it's fire. After all, you can't smelt ore without a good fire, and I'll be damned if I'll let a bit of water get the best of me!"

"If it helps, it's rather a lot of water that's got the best of you," he pointed out. Belvar glared at him, then turned his attention back to the tinder.

Lucas sighed. He would love nothing more than a good fire; his own clothes were still sodden from not only his drenching in the river, but also from the terrific downpour of the previous day and night. But worse than that, the strings of his harp had gotten wet and stubbornly refused to dry out. His instrument would be positively unplayable, now, and if it wasn't dried properly soon the wood would become too warped to salvage. At least his flute, in its tight box in his pack, had escaped relatively unscathed. Thank the gods for small miracles.

"What do you suppose happened to the others?" Belvar asked, putting away his flint in a silent admission of defeat.

"Kiree reached the other bank, of that I'm sure. She was too close not to reach it. As for everyone else... I saw Esmerelle go over the falls just a few seconds ahead of you and I, and I think I saw Duncan follow us. I'm not sure about Daeghun and Shayla."

"I just hope they find us soon."

Lucas nodded. They had a long-standing arrangement that if their group should ever become separated, they should all remain in one place, so that either Daeghun or Shayla could track them. So far, it had only happened three times, and each time, one or other of the elves had managed to reunite the group within a day of them being split up. That it was taking so long for them to be found did not bode well.

"It _has_ rained a lot," Belvar offered. "Probably a tad difficult to track us with the ground a bloody mess. Especially if they've had to go after Duncan and Esmerelle too." Lucas nodded again, because he'd learnt that when you offered nothing but silence, other people tried desperately to fill it. "I'm sure they're all fine."

"I've no doubt," he replied neutrally.

"We shouldn't have tried to cross the river. I knew it was a mistake right down in my bones. That bridge that had been made unstable... that was a sign from Berronar Truesilver, Mother of Safety. We should have turned around right there and then."

"I've always found your religious superstition to be quite endearing," Lucas remarked. This wasn't the first discussion they'd had about the bridge.

"And I've always found your lack of respect for the gods to be disturbing," Belvar snorted. "This is probably your fault. Your lack of faith must have pissed off somebody with power."

"My friend, you mistake my lack of faith for general skepticism. I have faith in the gods alright... faith that as often as they are just, noble and caring, they are petty, shallow and condescending. I have yet to meet a selfless god, and the day I do is the day I stop travelling and settle down to a quiet life. I think there's more chance of you sprouting wings and going to dwell with the avariel."

"Bah!"

"Bah indeed. But at least I'm living and dying by my own wits and my own skill. When I die, the gods can fight over my soul, or send it to the abyss. It's all one to me."

"I met a wizard, once, who'd been to the abyss. He said it wasn't very nice," the dwarf said slyly.

"I'm sure it was a sight nicer than this cold, dark forest," he grumbled, wrapping his cloak around himself.

"At least the forest doesn't have demons in it."

"That we know of. We may yet get lucky and find an ancient conclave of hell-beasts. I'm sure that would improve the day no end."

"Personally, I'd settle for a flagon or two of ale and a shank of roasted beef."

"If Daeghun ever finds us, I'll see to it that you get exactly that at the first inn we find."

"Excellent," said Belvar, and he took out his flint and turned back to the tinder. "Now to get this fire going."

o - o - o - o - o

From the direction of the river came the loud, croaking cry of a moorhen. The sound of splashing followed it, most likely indicating a fight amongst territorial rivals. When the splashing died down, the loudest noise to be heard was, once again, the roar of the Dessarin river. It was the same roar that had followed them since the previous day, ever since they'd gone over the falls. For Duncan, it was a bitter, if hazy, memory.

From his resting place on a rare dry patch of ground beneath a rocky overhang, he watched Daeghun crouch down beside the riverbank and examine the ground with his expert eye. So far, Daeghun had said very little, but Duncan could tell he was worried about the others. Especially Shayla. Sometimes it seemed that Shayla was the only person he ever worried about. Everybody else might as well not exist as far as Daeghun was concerned, and that included his own brother.

He shifted uncomfortably on the ground. His arm, inexpertly worried into a sling around his neck, itched like crazy. It was broken, he knew, because he'd had broken bones many times before. It wasn't a true adventure if he didn't get at least _one_ broken bone every tenday. This would make it the second time that his left arm had been fractured... the first had been three seasons ago during a fight with brigands. More worrying than his arm, however, was the painful bruise on the back of his head.

"You should have left me and gone after them," he said aloud to Daeghun, and not for the first time. And, not for the first time, Daeghun completely ignored him. "I was doing fine. I didn't need your help," he added.

Who did Daeghun think he was, ignoring him like this? What kind of a man ignored his own brother? His own brother who was in pain and discomfort with a possible concussion, who was tired, cold and hungry? Did Daeghun think that he wasn't concerned about the others? He was. Of course he was. But this wasn't his fault. If the blame lay with anybody, it was with Daeghun. Whose idea had it been to cross? Who had been adamant about running a safety rope across the river? And now look at where they were. Lost, alone, without horses or supplies, him injured and Daeghun being an ass because he was worried about Shayla.

"You know," he said aloud, "I used to think that you got your bad attitude from being raised by wild elves. But then I actually met Shayla's kin, and apart from the one who tried to kill me, they weren't actually all that bad. Which leaves me to wondering why you have to act like you don't give a damn about anything all the time, and why you think you're so superior to everybody else."

Daeghun stood up from his examination of the ground. "If you do not wish to be treated like a child, then you should not behave like one," he said calmly, and Duncan felt familiar anger rising within his gut.

"How can I behave like anything but a child if that's all you treat me as! You seem to think that I can't be trusted on my own, that I need you to watch over me and play the hero, but you're wrong. I can do just fine without you!"

"As you were doing 'just fine' in the river?" Daeghun's calm demeanour and arrogant composure was infuriating! Duncan wished that his arm was healed, and that he wasn't the man's bloody brother, then he could just hit him and have done with it.

"That's right, I was doing fine. I can swim. Esme can't, and Belvar barely manages. I told you to leave me and help them."

"In which case I would now be looking for your dead body," Daeghun replied, folding his arms across his chest. "You hit your head, lapsed into unconsciousness, and were inhaling water. Or don't you remember emptying the contents of everything you swallowed after I pulled you out of the river?"

Duncan pushed himself to his feet, white-hot anger fuelling him now. He was angry that Daeghun had saved him, angry that instead of helping those who truly needed help, Daeghun had opted instead to save his oafish younger brother. Angry that Daeghun would never expect a thank-you, but that every time Duncan looked at him, he would have to live with his brother's cold superiority. He had been angry a long time about a lot of things, and what made him even angrier was that it wasn't even really Daeghun's fault. Daeghun, too, had lost his mother, after all. But Daeghun hadn't known their mother, and Duncan had. Duncan had had to live with her sometimes cold indifference to him, never knowing, as a child, why his mother never told him she loved him, as other childrens' mothers did. He often felt like a burden to her, like something unwanted to be tolerated at best. And after learning the truth about Daeghun, he'd understood why. His mother still longed for the son she'd abandoned long ago. In her heart, Daeghun was the one she had always loved. Daeghun was the product of the union between she and the man she'd loved. Her second family was simply that; second best. An addition. An afterthought.

"You should not excite yourself," Daeghun said. "The bleeding has only just stopped, and until we can find either Esmerelle or Shayla, there is nothing I can do to heal you."

"I don't know what she sees in you," he said, simply itching for a fight. If Daeghun would simply just hit him, then he could hit back, and they could have it out right here and now. But no. Daeghun never let that wall down. He never showed his anger or frustration. You'd get more emotion from a bloody wizard's golem than you would from Daeghun! "Shayla could have her pick of any man, wild-elf or otherwise. Instead, she chose you. I don't see why."

"Neither do I," Daeghun admitted, and Duncan was so shocked to hear the admission that his anger evaporated on the spot. "I've asked myself that many times. Sometimes I lie awake at night, forsaking reverie to ponder the question. Shayla is strong-willed, beautiful, wise, fierce, outgoing... and at the same time she's soft and gentle, quiet and introspective, as dangerous as a tiger and as innocent as a lamb. I don't know why she loves me as she does. All I know is that I prayed for her. Every night for three years whilst I was living amongst the Wolfsbane tribe, I prayed to Hanali Celanil, asking her for Shayla's love. It is my greatest fear that her love for me comes not from herself, but from the goddess, and I wish now that I had never asked for it, for I know not if she loves me freely."

"I... um... that is..." Duncan managed, fumbling for words that eluded him. Where was Lucas and his way with words when you needed him? "Look, I'm sorry. I'm in a lot of pain, I'm worried sick about the others, and I snapped. I didn't mean what I said."

"Yes, you did. It just takes a lot of pain for you to speak your mind freely. But I don't know what to tell you. Shayla is the first and only woman I've ever loved. Do you think it was easy for me to return home with her, knowing how she was once almost joined with Loruar? Knowing that the sight of him might rekindle old feelings she felt for him? But I did as I thought best, as I do with you. I've never had a brother before. I have no experience of looking out for family. And I suppose, at first, I did resent you out of jealousy."

"What? You? Jealous of me?" he asked as he felt his world rock. "For all the gods, why?"

"Because you had what I never did. A family to love and care for you. Somewhere for you to fit in. Somewhere that you belonged. All I had was my own imagination, and in my mind, my mother was a wonderful, caring person who'd had to leave me through no choice of her own before some terrible tragedy befell her. Then you came along, and the truth was less pleasant than my dreams. I didn't want to hear the truth, and I didn't want to travel with somebody who had shattered my own illusions."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner?" he demanded. Perhaps he wouldn't have been as harsh on his brother if he had known the man's feelings before now.

"Because I wasn't sure of any of it sooner," Daeghun replied. "It is the fundamental difference between us. You may be half-elven, but you live your life at a human pace. You do things quickly, thinking, acting, reacting, before I've even had chance to form my thoughts. I like to be sure of my thoughts and my feelings before I speak."

"So... um... has anybody passed by here?" he asked, gesturing at the ground. He hadn't been expecting his brother's revelations, and, quite awkwardly, didn't know how to deal with them. For now he was content to file them away for later examination... if Daeghun was too.

"No, I don't think so," said Daeghun, and Duncan let out a mental sigh of relief that his brother wasn't going to continue talking about feelings Duncan hadn't even known he'd had. "But the current was strong, they could have been washed even further down-stream than I had initially thought. And if they've been injured..."

Duncan nodded. Daeghun didn't need to finish the sentence. If the others had been injured in the river, then either they'd wash up at some point along the river, or their corpses would be flushed out to the sea.

o - o - o - o - o

From her vantage point atop one of the horses, Kiree looked out over the swollen Dessarin river. The dead body of a deer wedged betwixt two rocks was already starting to decompose, and it had attracted vultures. The large, ugly birds used their powerful beaks to rip open the water-logged flesh of the deer's soft belly, and their featherless heads came up bloodied. She wrinkled her nose at the sight, then took a stone from her pocket and threw it at the birds. They spread their large wings and launched themselves into the air, flying to a tree a short distance away where they sat and watched her.

"You shouldn't do that," said Shayla. Kiree looked down at the elf who was sitting cross-legged, her eyes closed in meditation. "They provide a valuable service."

"I don't like dirty, stinking carrion-eaters. They remind me too much of the Thieves," she replied.

"Without carrion eaters, dead matter and waste would pile up around us. You'd like that even less."

"I can see them, sitting there, just waiting for me to drop dead so they can pick my corpse clean."

"Every creature has its place in the world."

"What, even the drow?"

"I require silence," Shayla said curtly, and Kiree grinned. Sometimes it was fun giving Shayla a taste of her own medicine, even though she usually paid for it later when she was in most desperate need of a hang-over cure.

Fighting down pangs of worry, she turned her attention back to the trees around her. This place wasn't a forest, not a proper one. It was little more than a wooded area around the river banks. Here, even in the driest weather, the plants never wanted for water... and she knew exactly how they felt. She was the only one not to have fallen in the river - fast reflexes and her proximity to the far bank had saved her - but she'd been _thoroughly_ rained upon the day before, and the heat from her body had only just finished drying her clothes. She and Shayla, who had managed to drag herself out of the river shortly after falling in, had spent the previous day and all night huddled together between the horses, waiting for Daeghun to find them. That was the arrangement. If separated, stay still. Daeghun would know where to look for them, Shayla said.

And that might have been so, the day before, but now Shayla had sent Ashara to search the far bank. That meant she was worried. Daeghun _should_ have returned by now. Unless he was injured. Or with somebody else who was injured. In which case, staying still was the worst thing that she and Shayla could do, because the others might be in need of help. She knew that Shayla was torn between wanting to stay and wait and wanting to go and search. Of course, the end result would be that they would leave and search, because no matter how much Shayla hated making the wrong decision, she hated inaction even more. But suggesting a course of action to the elf was completely pointless. She had to be allowed to reach the decision on her own.

"Ah," said Shayla suddenly, conveying a whole heap of joy in just a single syllable. Kiree saw a smile on the woman's lips. "There they are."

"Who is it?" she asked. "Is it Esme? You know she can't swim. She should have let me teach her when I offered!"

"It's Daeghun, and Duncan is with him. Duncan is injured... his arm appears to be broken, and he has a head wound. But he's on his feet at least, and they have food and water. Ashara will stay with them, so I don't lose them again, and we will keep searching this bank, as Daeghun searches opposite."

Her mind made up, Shayla opened her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. She point blank refused to ride one of the horses, but she took their reins and led them down-river whilst Kiree kept her eyes peeled for signs of their friends. Not that she knew what she was looking for... despite travelling with Shayla for years, she'd picked up remarkably little in the way of wilderness skills. Where Shayla and Daeghun could read a novel in a single broken twig or scattered tracks, she saw only a broken twig or scattered tracks. But whilst she was riding she had the advantage of height, and could see further. Perhaps she could even see far enough to spot one of their friends. She just hoped that she wouldn't spot them too late.

o - o - o - o - o

"Must you march so fast?" Kalan'Tel complained as Esme strode along the riverbank, her mind working furiously. Shayla's staff being in the water meant that Shayla must have been in the water at some point too. The shaman would _never_ part with her staff otherwise. It was too important to her, held too much power. But where was Shayla now? Was she upriver? Downriver? On this bank? On the opposite one? Had she struck out away from the river to avoid the floodwaters? Or had she been washed all the way down to the sea? Whatever had happened to her, she would do herself and her friends no good by losing her head like this.

She stopped so abruptly that Kalan'Tel, following on her heels and trying to talk her into slowing down, bumped into her, knocking her to the ground. He helped her up, made her sit down on a grassy knoll and pulled another pear from his pocket, instructing her to eat. She did so without question, because she knew her body would only take so much exertion before demanding sleep again, and she wasn't ready to give up on her friends for the day just yet.

"If your friends are truly as skilled at tracking as you say, then they will find you," said the drow. She knew he was trying to put her mind at ease, but it wasn't what she wanted right now. She wanted to _do_ something. She wanted to take _action_, not just sit back and wait to be found.

"But what if they don't," she said. "They could be injured or, gods forbid it, dead. Or with the ground being so sodden they might not find my tracks, or..."

"Then might I make a suggestion?" he interrupted, and waited for her nod before he continued. "They need not track you by your footprints alone. You have in your pack an item of clothing that is very red, and therefore very visible. Cut it into small strips and tie the strips around branches of trees we pass, to be used as markers."

"But it's my favourite dress!" Her heart began to sink at the thought of tearing up the dress which was almost the same colour as an acolyte's robes."

"And what is more important to you? Vanity, or friendship? New clothes can be bought. New friends cannot."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted reluctantly. "Will you pass me my pack?"

She put the sword down and took out a small knife from the scabbard on her belt. When Kalan'Tel gave her her bag, she withdrew the red dress and, with a sigh, began making cuts in it, tearing the fabric apart into long strips. This was the first dress that Kiree had ever bought her. Where was Kiree now? Was she safe and searching, or was she injured, lying cold and wet beside the river, desperate for somebody to find her? And what about Lucas? He already suffered from arthritis. What if being thrown into the river caused him to develop pneumonia, too? And Belvar... the dwarf had admitted that he wasn't a great swimmer. Had he managed to save himself from the river, or had it pulled him down to sleep forever upon its rocky bed? When her vision blurred because of tears filling her eyes, she ceased her work for fear of cutting herself.

"The tears of surfacers are an unfortunately familiar sight to me," said Kalan'Tel quietly. "More often than not, I have been the cause of them. They confused me, at first. A drow might cry because of pain inflicted upon him, but he never cries for the pain of others. That level of empathy is lost upon my people, but I hope to experience it myself one day."

"You _want_ to be sad?" she asked, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve as he squatted down in front of her.

"Yes," he said solemnly. "You don't know how fortunate you are, having not only one person who you care enough about to cry for, but having several people. I have never even had one person to care for and cry for."

"Haven't you ever been in love?"

"No, although the former drow matron that I have previously spoken of told me about it on several occasions. She had a son whom she loved dearly, but he died in battle. She regretted that she had never been able to tell him that she loved him... he probably would have killed her for it. If I had a person to love, I would tell them every single day."

"It's not always that easy."

"Why not?"

"Sometimes, the people you love don't always love you back. At least, not in the same way."

"The same way? You mean there are different ways of loving somebody?" he asked, confusion painting his face.

"Many different ways. Love between parents and their children is different than the love the have for each other. There's love between friends, neighbours, family, love for a favoured pet, love for a place, a home or a god. There's love that is quiet and lasts for years, or love that jumps out at you and makes your heart race whenever you think of it. Then there's different shades of love... attraction, respect... and so forth," she said, struggling to expand on a subject she herself had little experience of."

"I hadn't expected such... variety. If what you're saying is true, then a person might live their entire life and never experience all the different forms of love. Is that so?"

"I suppose it is," she shrugged. "And even within the different types of love, you will never feel the same about two people. I love all of my friends in different ways. I feel different things for the priest who raised me than I do for my grandmother who raised me. Similarly, a mother may love her son and her daughter in similar amounts, but different ways, and for different reasons."

"I'm surprised you humans manage to fit all of these things in to your short life spans."

"It's not something we plan for. Love isn't a place, you can't go searching for it, and you can't find it on a map. It's something that just happens to you, often when you least expect it."

"Have you ever been in love before?"

"I... don't think so," she said hesitantly. This seemed to confuse him even further.

"You don't think so? How can you not know? Surely love is easily recognisable."

"It's just very... subjective," she said, trying her best and wishing she had Lucas' ability to put concepts succinctly into words. "Some people feel love more strongly than others. Some people hardly feel it at all. And nobody else can tell you what love is. Nobody else can tell you whether you love another person or not."

"But if nobody can tell you what it is, how do you know when you are experiencing it? Or are humans born with an innate ability to identify love?"

"It's complicated," she sighed. "I'm not the best person to be teaching you about love. What you really need is a bard or a poet. They write about love a lot. And they probably have more experience than I."

"Thank you for trying. I know I've asked a lot of you."

"The thing is, a lot of what you want to know about can't be easily explained. It's... life stuff. And life is meant to be lived and experienced, not described with words."

"I understand," he said, and looking into his bright red eyes, she thought he finally did. "Should we begin leaving your markers for your friends?"

She nodded, and let him help her to her feet before picking up the elven sword once more. She didn't know where her friends were, but she was going to make it as easy as possible for them to find her. No matter how long it took, she wouldn't give up on them.

o - o - o - o - o

The fire crackled, small but bright beneath the cloudy, starless night sky. Esme shivered, and pulled her cloak more tightly around her body. In her hands she held two long, sharp sticks, upon which chunks of meat were spitted, and these she held above the fire, watching the meat slowly cook. It had come from the corpse of a wild boar that Kalan'Tel had dragged out of the river. The animal hadn't been dead for long, and they'd left the majority of the remains behind on the riverbank for the carrion eaters to clean up. Already the smell of cooking meat was making her mouth water. After two days of surviving off only rations, water and unripe pears, she was desperate for something - anything - else.

In the trees overhead, bats flitted to and fro, catching moths upon the wing which in turn had been attracted to the light of the fire. It always amazed her how the tiny creatures could perform such incredible feats of aerial acrobatics and never once collide with each other or the trees. In the High Forest, she'd once spent an evening camped outside a cave that housed bats, and simply sat watching them as the sun sank below the horizon. She knew it wouldn't be too long, now, until they started hibernating. As soon as the moths, mosquitoes and midges began to die away because of the colder evenings, the bats would take to their cave again, wrapping their blanket-like wings around themselves, hanging upside down amongst their friends and families.

_Look at me,_ she thought, turning the meat so it wouldn't burn. _Sitting here being envious of bats. I bet the others would laugh at me if they could hear my thoughts. Well, maybe they wouldn't laugh... they're not that cruel. But they'd definitely think me strange. And I wonder where Kalan'Tel's got to. He said he was going for water but he's been gone for ages. If he doesn't hurry up his meat will burn._

It had been the drow's idea to leave the damp riverbank and find somewhere dry to make a fire, and she had to admit, she was glad for it. She hadn't realised just how chilled she was before now, and if she could get a proper night's sleep tonight then tomorrow she just might be able to heal herself. When she was fully healed, Kalan'Tel wouldn't need to stay with her until she found her friends... but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted him to leave. After years of near-solitude she'd become accustomed to company once more. She never wanted to go back to the loneliness that she felt in the High Forest, and company was company no matter the source.

_He's an evil creature who's done terrible, terrible things,_ part of her mind pointed out.

**But he wants to change,** said another.** Just look at where he was raised. It's a miracle he can be civilised at all, after coming through that.**

_You're just making excuses for him because he kissed you and you liked it._

**Am not!**

_Are too. You can't lie to me. Next you'll be trying to tell me that you didn't secretly get a little thrill out of disobeying Shayla and setting him free._

**I got a little thrill out of proving Shayla wrong. She said all drow are evil and can't be trusted, but Kalan'Tel hasn't done anything to harm me.**

_So far._

**And he won't do anything to harm me.**

_Are you sure? I've seen the way he looks at you with fervour in his eyes. He thinks his goddess sent you to help him._

**Maybe she did. Lucas says the gods are capable of anything.** **Lathander clearly wanted me to save Kalan'Tel.**

_Ah. 'Lathander wanted it'. The perfect excuse for letting him kiss you. It's a good job you spotted Shayla's staff when you did, or the gods only know what you would have let him do to you._

The thought made her blush, and Kalan'Tel chose that moment to reappear from the trees with a full water bottle in his hands. He moved silently, barely visible in the shadows, and suddenly, she found herself not caring one bit about what Shayla did and did not approve of.

"You look like you have a lot on your mind," he said, glancing at her flushed cheeks.

"What makes you say that?"

"You haven't noticed that the boar meat is burning."

"Damn it!" she swore, and pulled the meat out of the fire. The outer edges of it were smoking and slightly charred. "Sorry."

"A day ago, I had no food. Even burnt food is preferable to that."

He was right, and it made her feel... uneasy. How could she leave him to fend for himself? Granted, he was a fully grown man and quite capable of defending himself. But he had little knowledge of the surface, he didn't know how to feed himself, he didn't have any weapon with which he could hunt, nor did he have money to buy food or supplies. He was almost as helpless as she had been on the day she'd run away from the temple, only he didn't have somebody like Aggie waiting to help him find his way.

She handed him one of the sticks and watched him begin to eat the hot meat. It was probably the first time he'd tried boar meat - admittedly, it was the first time _she'd_ had boar meat too - but he didn't complain about its stringy texture or the lack of seasoning. She bit into one of the small chunks on her own stick and felt hot grease released into her mouth. It was probably the best thing she had ever tasted and her mouth watered even as she ate. Her days of relative privation seemed to have kindled her appetite once more.

"How had you planned to feed yourself on the surface?" she asked once the edge had been taken off her hunger.

Kalan'Tal stopped eating for a moment to consider the question. The firelight seemed to make his red eyes glow, and she wondered how common red eyes were amongst the drow. She had some vague memory of Kiree briefly describing the drow to her, but she couldn't remember if the halfling had mentioned anything about eye colour.

"I intended to steal, at first," he replied at last. "Until I could provide for myself. Do you find that offensive?"

"A little," she said, conscious of frown that played across her face. "But I can condone theft if it's done out of necessity rather than greed."

"I thought that you might. So far you've shown little regard for laws or rules. Were you drow, you would either be very successful or very dead by now."

"Er... thanks, I think. But I don't think I've shown little regard for laws or rules. I respect them."

"There is a difference between respect and obedience, I think. Otherwise you would not have freed me from my cage."

"I suppose you're right," she replied, a little uncomfortable with the fact that Kalan'Tel had only been in her company for a few days and already professed to have insight into her motives. "Just don't go getting yourself caught by any more Helmites, because they _definitely_ won't condone thievery. A Helmite would rather starve than have the dishonour of stealing on their soul."

"Don't worry. I can well recall the beating the last knights of Helm gave me," he said darkly. "I intend to avoid them in future."

They fell to silence as they ate the remainder of their meal, and Esme turned her thoughts to the day she had first seen Kalan'Tel in Red Larch. The barkeeper of the inn they'd stayed in had told her that they hadn't let the drow get away with murdering and pillaging, but it hadn't truly registered on her mind, at the time, what he'd meant. After they'd captured Kalan'Tel, the villagers and the knights had beaten him in revenge for the killings despite the fact that he was unarmed, and at the same time they'd claimed the moral high ground, portraying themselves as victims. Victims they may have been, but their actions hadn't been right and just. It would have been far more humane to simply execute Kalan'Tel. Instead, what they'd done was tantamount to torture.

_And we think we're civilised_.

She looked up to find him watching her, and threw her empty sharp stick in the fire to disguise her growing discomfort. She wasn't used to being watched so intently. In fact, she wasn't used to being the centre of attention at all, and he'd made it quite clear that he thought she was, in his own words, special. "What are you looking for?" she asked. "I can assure you, I haven't grown horns since you last saw me."

"I apologise for staring," he said, and again she sensed nothing of genuine repentance in his words. It was as if they were more of a formality than anything else. "I was simply thinking of the differences between your people and mine."

"Differences such as?"

"Were you a drow woman, you would most likely be a priestess of Lolth. If we were here on the surface together, you would be leading a raiding party. Probably a high profile one, otherwise you wouldn't be here. And we would not be talking as equals, as we are now. I would be under your command, and if I attempted to engage you in friendly conversation, you would most likely have me executed for my impudence. My ranking is so low that I would be almost beneath your notice. You would direct your orders to the most accomplished and senior warrior within the party, who would in turn direct the rest of us."

"Why did you kiss me earlier?" she asked on a whim.

He shrugged. "It seemed the right thing to do. I suppose I didn't have the words to adequately express how much I appreciate everything you've done for me. From what I understand, from what you've told me, not many people could calmly listen to me describe the things I've done in the past, and then stay in my company afterwards without flinching away from me. I... I also have an confession to make," he said, looking almost embarrassed.

"I'm listening," she prompted.

"Do you remember what I told you the other day about Eilistraee? About how I felt her presence when I was in the cage?" She nodded. "When I first saw you, I thought you _were_ the goddess, manifesting herself to me. I know, now, that my thoughts were foolish. Why would Eilistraee appear as a human on horseback? But when I looked into your eyes I thought I saw a flicker of recognition, thought I heard a voice in my mind telling me to hold on to life a little longer. Then you brought me food and water, you healed me, just as the goddess had healed my soul in the Underdark, and you set me free. That is the true reason I followed you. And after I plucked you from the river, I asked the goddess to keep us hidden from your friends. I wanted to speak to you alone, to come to know you better without interference. I believe the goddess sent the rain which wiped away our trail, and for trying to keep you from your friends, I am sorry. I was selfish. Can you forgive me?"

"I suppose I can understand your feelings," she said carefully. "You don't still think I'm Eilistraee incarnate, do you?"

"No," he said with a smile. "I don't believe the goddess would allow a mere mortal like me to kiss her. That you possess Eilistraee's wisdom, beauty and compassion is merely a coincidence. Though I still believe she sent you to free me."

"Then I have a confession of my own to make. When I set you free, it wasn't because I felt sympathy for you. Well, it was. But I also believed that I was doing Lathander's bidding. You see, he granted me the power that I used to heal you. Gods can with-hold their power from followers who are abusing that power. It seemed logical to me that if I _could_ heal you, then Lathander _wanted_ me to heal you."

"Then it seems I owe my life not only to you, but to your god too," he mused. "How do you suggest that I thank him?"

"You could say a prayer as the sun rises. Lathander is the Morning Lord, after all."

"Then I shall say a prayer of thanks to the morning sun, for your god, and a prayer of thanks to the moon, for mine. I would also like to kiss you again."

"That is... agreeable," she said, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. Her mind, prone to arguing with itself of late where the drow was concerned, was thankfully silent. She watched as he made his way around the fire to sit beside her, and offered no objections as he raised his hand, running his fingers along her jaw line before bringing his lips to hers. All thoughts fled from her mind as his tongue flickered across the tip of hers. She barely even noticed when her own hands crept around his neck, pulling him closer to her, nor the way his long fingers gently grasped her hair, allowing him to pull back her head and expose her neck, which he transferred his kisses to.

She let out a slight whimper as he teased her skin with his teeth, and felt her body making all sorts of hitherto unknown demands. All thoughts of propriety evaporated with each kiss he landed on her bare skin. Her hands moved of their own accord, her fingertips tracing over his cheeks, running along his ears to their pointed tips.

"Kalan'Tel," she managed to gasp at last between breaths.

He drew his lips away from her neck and opened his eyes, which, against all reason, seemed even more red and luminous than usual. "Is something wrong?" he asked, unfeigned concern in his voice.

"No, nothing's wrong. It's just that... I've never lain with a man before," she replied, thankful that her cheeks were already flushed from the heat of the fire and from his kisses.

"Then I will be especially gentle with you," he replied, kissing her again more slowly this time. And overhead, the bats swooped, catching moths attracted by the light of the campfire.


	24. By Eilistraee's Light

Chapter 24.

By Eilistraee's Light

"_Only when the clamor of the outside world is silenced will you be able to hear the deeper vibration. Listen carefully." _- Sarah Ban Breathnach

o - o - o - o - o

The deep silence of the night was broken by the hooting of an owl. Esmerelle's eyes flickered open as the bird called again, and then a third time, and then a fourth. Each call grew quieter as it moved away; it wasn't hunting, or she wouldn't have heard it at all. More likely it was calling out for its mate, listening for a responding hoot that would tell it where its partner waited.

The wind gusted momentarily, and she shivered, pulling her cloak around herself and wondering why she was so cold. Then she realised that beneath the cloak she was naked; the soil beneath her, warm from her body heat, and the fire dying nearby were the only sources of heat to be felt. She pushed herself upright and looked around for Kalan'Tel. Shadows cast by the trees which were illuminated by the light of the half-moon danced upon the ground, and it took a moment for her vision to adapt. When it did, she saw him sitting cross-legged not far away from the slumbering fire. His hair, now loose and cascading down his back, shone silvery-white in the moonlight, and his bare skin was almost grey in complexion. She couldn't see his eyes, for he sat with his back towards her, but she knew from his posture that he was looking up at the moon.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he said without turning around.

"You didn't," she replied. "The owl did. But how did you know I was awake?"

"I heard your breathing change tempo, and I heard the soft sound of your movement as you sat up."

Of course, she should have remembered how keen elven hearing was. It seemed dark elves were no exception. "Aren't you cold?" she asked, shivering as another gust of wind found its way beneath her cloak.

"Yes."

She moved towards him, leaning against his back and wrapping her arms, and the cloak with them, around his shoulders. "What are you thinking about?"

"That I have a long way to go before I can right all of the wrongs I've done in my life. That I wish I could stay with you, because when I'm with you, it's easy for me to forget about my past."

"Maybe you _can_ stay with me."

"Your friends would never allow it," he said with a shake of his head. "You've made that much more than clear to me before now. Besides, my presence would endanger you. Other elves would be hostile to me, humans would fear and attempt to kill me, and if my own kin decided to come to the surface and hunt me down, I would not be able to protect you." He turned around to face her. "If you were harmed because of me, I would never be able to forgive myself. But if I know that you are well, even if you are on the other side of Faerûn, then it will give me a reason to keep living, a reason to keep trying to change for the better."

"And it doesn't have anything to do with me being human?"

"Of course not. What would make you ask such a thing?" he said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I was told that relationships between elves and humans rarely work out for the best," she admitted. "Because of our differing lifespans."

"Told by the man who gave you the sword?" he asked, his eyes flickering to where the elven weapon lay in its sheath. He seemed to take her silence as confirmation. "That sounds to me like an excuse made by somebody who is afraid of his own feelings. I don't claim to be an expert; I'm still coming to terms with the feelings that I _do_ have, much less thinking about the ones I have yet to experience. But surely, if love is as wonderful as you describe, then it should develop in spite of race or age or life-span. Don't you think?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I'm no expert either. I suspect this is one of those questions you're supposed to answer when you're old and wrinkled with a dozen grand-children, with the benefit of hindsight and experience behind you."

"Well, you won't be old and wrinkled for a long time yet," he said with a smiled. He reached up to run his fingers along her cheek bone, tracing the contours of her face. "It looks as if Eilistraee has graced us with her presence," he said, glancing towards the half-moon. "Let's return to the fire and give thanks to her for bringing us together, shall we?"

"That sounds like a fine idea to me," she smiled back, and together they returned to their meagre campsite.

o - o - o - o - o

The following morning, Esme crept away from the sleeping form of Kalan'Tel. She left him with the cloak for warmth and moved to the top of a small hill, where she had a better view of the rising sun. The morning breeze chilled her bare skin, but she ignored it as best she could, just as she ignored the small part of her mind which was self-consciously pointing out that she was completely naked. It was easy to ignore the voice because out here, nobody could see her. It wasn't as if she was on parade in Silverymoon. That would be an _entirely_ different situation. Out here, she felt at ease.

_Lord of the Morning,_ she thought, closing her eyes in silent prayer, _I don't know why you wanted me to free Kalan'Tel, and I don't know why any of this has happened, and I don't even know if any of this is your doing. He thinks Eilistraee led me to him, and I don't have the heart to disagree with him. But if this was your doing, I just wanted to thank you. I know I've asked a lot of you, at times, and there have been days when I've woken too late to say my prayers properly. From now on, I promise I'll try to be more dutiful. And if it's not too much to ask, could you please watch over my friends until I find them again? Especially Lucas. I know he wouldn't ask it for himself, and so I feel that he needs your protection most of all._

She opened her eyes as the sun crested the horizon, its disc large and bright red. Taking it as a good omen, she looked back towards Kalan'Tel, the very picture of elven grace even as he slept soundly. A smile played across her lips as she recalled the events of the previous night, and she sincerely hoped that none of her friends had been within hearing range of their camp. At least now she had first-hand experience of some of the things which Kiree had described to her. Of course, she would have to _swear_ the halfling to secrecy before telling her about _any_ of this.

Her smile turned to a frown as she recalled Kalan'Tel's description of the things he'd done in his past. It was hard to believe that the same man who could touch her so gently and carefully was also capable of acts of brute strength and violence. But then, weren't all men, and women, capable of acts of violence? Just look at Loruar and Tirisar, or Albur, and even Eldon. People killed each other, and they hurt each other. It was a sad fact of life. Sometimes the killing was in the name of good, for a higher purpose, but it didn't make it any less right, it just made it a little more justifiable to the people doing it.

_Kalan'Tel wants to change,_ she thought. _I can't judge him for what he's done in the past, because I didn't know him then, and he's a different man now than he used to be. And if he can change for the better, then so can I. I swear that from now on, I will say my prayers every day, even if they are a little tardy. And I will donate to those less fortunate than me whenever I'm able, and I'll heal anybody who needs it, too. Even if they're a murderer or a criminal or a drow. And I'll never, ever kill anybody. Not for any reason. Maybe I'll be the only Bhaalspawn who never kills, but I won't let my father's tainted blood lead me down the path of darkness. I swear it._

She shivered even as the morning sun began to warm her body. She'd never sworn an oath like that before. What would happen if she didn't keep it? Now that she intended to break it, of course. It was probably foolish to even think about it. Besides, she had more important things to think about. Reaching up to her head, she unfastened the knot in the bandage around her temple and began unwinding it, wincing in pain when the material stuck to the dried blood that had started to scab over her injury. Prying it free brought fresh bleeding, but it wasn't a problem new. She'd known from the moment she opened her eyes that she could heal herself again, and that's exactly what she did now, chanting quietly the words of a healing spell. She felt her skin began to heal and regrow, and the trickle of warm blood running down her scalp ceased to flow. The pain, nausea, dizziness and tiredness she'd been experiencing over the past couple of days was washed away, leaving her feeling refreshed and awake.

"You are a worker of miracles," said Kalan'Tel. She turned her head to find him watching her, his upper body propped up and reclining on his elbow.

"Lathander is the one who performs miracles," she smiled. "I'm merely a vessel."

"An extremely talented and beautiful vessel."

"Flattery is entirely unnecessary," she assured him.

"It's not flattery; just simple truth."

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "now that I'm healed and can cast spells, I can send a signal to my friends, to let them know where I am."

"Then it's time for me to leave," he said. "The last thing I want is to cause trouble for you amongst your friends."

"I think that would be for the best," she said, wishing it could be otherwise but knowing that no amount of wishful thinking would alter reality. Her friends just weren't ready to accept the possibility that not all drow were evil. Well, perhaps Kiree and Lucas might be open to the idea, and possibly Duncan to some extent, but the others were too biased. Even if they _did_ allow Kalan'Tel to travel with them, they'd be constantly watching him for signs of deceit and treachery. That was no way for somebody to live.

They dressed in silence as a despondent mood settled over their campsite. The chill of the morning seemed to penetrate to the bone, and even dressed, Esme felt unusually cold inside. She toyed with the idea of leaving with Kalan'Tel. She could simply walk away from the river, and her friends would believe her dead. But... that wasn't fair. She'd already faked death by drowning once. She didn't want to put Shayla and the others through what she had put Eldon through on the day she'd run away from the temple. Besides, Kalan'Tel had already made it clear that it was too dangerous to travel with him. Then, she recalled something she had read in one of Aggie's books. It was one of the few story books the old witch had owned; a romance novel she'd allowed Esme to read because, as Aggie had put it, _'You need to know about the facts of life, young Esmerelle'._

"If you love somebody, set them free," the protagonist of the book - a flighty young woman whose name escaped her had claimed - "If they don't come back, then they were never yours."

She didn't know if it was true, and she didn't know if she loved Kalan'Tel. Certainly she enjoyed his company. His conversations were thought-provoking and made her question herself and everything she knew of the world. And the way he touched her made her feel like a real woman, instead of a girl pretending to be a woman but knowing nothing about the ways of women.

"Esmerelle," said Kalan'Tel behind her. She finished buttoning up her shirt and turned around to face him. He was fully clothed once again in the same black clothes she'd first seen him in, back in his cage in Red Larch. The ruby rays of the rising sun gave his silver hair a red tinge, and made his scarlet eyes luminesce. "You look sad. I hope you don't regret anything that has happened since we met."

"I don't," she assured him. "I just wish I could have given you more answers for your questions. I fear you won't have an easy life on the surface."

"I know. But you've given me something more than answers. You've given me hope." He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and leant forward to plant a long kiss on her forehead. "I'll find you again one day, once I've atoned for my crimes and found peace in my heart."

"Wait, I want you to have this," she said, and hurried to where they had slept. From beneath her pack she took the elven sword that Haluar had given her and held it out to Kalan'Tel.

He shook his head. "I won't take your sword from you."

"Then borrow it, and give it back to me when you next see me. I have no use for it; magic is my weapon, and my faith keeps me safe. I was planning on selling the blade anyway," she lied. "Please take it and put it to the use for which it was intended."

"As you wish," he said, and took the sword, pushing the sheath through the belt of his trousers. Then he took her hand in his, and squeezed it gently. "I shall see to it that only creatures of evil meet their ends upon its length, and the next time we meet, you will not be the only surfacer to find me worthy of your trust."

"Take care, Kalan'Tel," she said, fighting back tears that desperately wanted to be shed. "May Lathander watch over you as you walk beneath the sun."

"And may the silver light of Eilistraee guide you by night."

His fingers slipped from her grasp as he turned and disappeared into the forest, the shadows a shroud over his body. Within just a few seconds, the sound of him disappearing through the trees vanished, and she was left alone with only birdsong for company.

_Maybe none of this was real_, she thought as she went about clearing up the campsite. _Maybe he was a spirit. Maybe he was never really here._ In her mind, she could almost _hear_ Aggie chiding her for being whimsical. Of course Kalan'Tel had been real, regardless of how _unreal_ the past few days felt. He'd pulled her from the river and saved her life. Spirits couldn't do that. Nor could they bleed, as he had done in his cage. She knew she was simply trying to romanticise the whole experience.

Once she'd packed up her belongings and stowed the soil-stained cloak in her pack, she set off towards the river and walked along the bank for a few minutes. There was still no sign of any of her friends, so she found a dry place to sit and cast a lightning bolt into the air, as she had on the night when Eldreth Veluuthra had tried to kill her. It was a sunny, cloudless morning; anybody seeing the lightning bolt would know it was magically created, and would come running to rescue her. And if nobody had arrived by noon, she would cast it again, and then again in the evening. She just hoped that there was somebody left to find her.

o - o - o - o - o

It was almost dusk before Esme heard signs of anything larger than a blackbird. As the noise of something approaching grew louder she ducked behind a blackberry bush, watching with her breath held. She hoped it was her friends, but they might not have been the only ones to see her signals; for all she knew, the area around the river may be home to orcs or trolls or gnolls, or any of the other myriad beasts she'd mostly only heard of and never seen in person. There may even be other drow in the vicinity, looking for Kalan'Tel. She wasn't all that far away from Red Larch, after all.

"...sure about what you saw?" asked a familiar voice as two figures appeared from up-river leading three horses between them.

"Of course I'm sure," said the taller figure. "I know a lightning bolt when I see one. It was Esmerelle, I'm sure of it."

"Kiree, Shayla!" she shouted, standing up from her hiding place. Both of her friends jumped in fright; Shayla recovered herself more quickly whilst Kiree simply ran towards her and wrapped her slender arms around Esme's waist.

"You have no idea how pleased I am to see you," the halfling said. "I was sooo worried about you. I thought for sure you'd drowned in the river. It was so fast and dangerous... How in the name of Brandobaris did you survive?"

"After I went over the falls, I thought for sure that I'd drown," she admitted. "To be honest, I don't remember very much of what happened. I hit my head and lost consciousness, and when I woke, I'd been washed up on this bank, caught amongst some boulders which had been set down by the river... along with a dead cow," she said, pulling a face of disgust.

"We saw lots of dead animals floating down the river, didn't we Shayla?" said Kiree, letting go of Esme's waist and turning towards the elf.

"Yes, lots," said Shayla grimly. "But please, do go on with your account. Why didn't you signal us sooner?"

"I wanted too, but I was too injured," she said, hoping she sounded genuine. "I wandered around in a daze for a bit... I was pretty out of it, but I think I'd had the idea that if I just kept walking, I would leave enough tracks for Daeghun to find me. Then it rained, and washed away most of my tracks, so I cut up my red dress-"

"Not the one we got for you in Everlund!" Kiree exclaimed with a look of horror.

"The same. But admittedly, it had been ruined by its soak in the river. Anyway, I cut my red dress up and tied strips as markers as I went along the river bank. I'm surprised you didn't see them."

"I'm not," said Shayla with a sigh. "The woods around this river are filled with korreds."

"What are they?"

"Small fey creatures that look like a cross between halflings and satyrs. They're very mischievous and they like to collect things which you and I might consider mundane."

"Like magpies?" Kiree asked.

"There's only one person in these woods who is magpie-like in their attraction to shiny objects," said Shayla pointedly. "But if the korreds saw you tying something colourful around the trees, they would likely have untied them and collected them just for the fun of it."

"I suppose that explains why you didn't find me sooner," Esme said. "I was only able to heal myself this morning. But where is everybody else? Surely the river..." she trailed off, not sure of how to ask Shayla if the man she loved was dead.

"The others are well," the elf smiled. "They are on the opposite bank. Ashara found Duncan and Daeghun yesterday, and they found Lucas and Belvar last night. Duncan is injured, and Lucas and Belvar had suffered from the cold, but they are otherwise fine. They're heading downstream, as are we, to find a place that is safe for them to cross over."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" she said, and hurried back around the bush that she'd hid behind. There, she picked up her pack and Shayla's staff, and returned to her friends. "I found this washed up with me on the riverbank," she said, handing the staff back to the elf. Shayla's eyes lit up as her hands clasped the wood, and the carvings on it began to glow with a faint blue light.

"Thank you, Esmerelle. I feared I'd lost my staff forever. Now that I have it back, I should be able to find a way to reunite us."

"What do you have in mind?" Kiree asked. "Some fancy magic?"

"Come, let us return to the river," said Shayla. She turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving Esme and Kiree to deal with the horses. Kiree shrugged and picked up the reins of Lucas' and Duncan's mounts, while Esme was reunited with Blaze.

"Let's go and see what Shayla's upto," said Kiree.

They followed the elf to the river, and Esme saw several figures standing on the opposite bank. Her heart almost jumped for joy when she recognised them. Duncan's arm was in a sling, and both Lucas and Belvar were wrapped in their cloaks whilst Daeghun stood casually with his bow strung.

"Look what we found," shouted Shayla, gesturing to Esme. "It seems she's fed herself, warmed herself, healed herself and found a way to let us know where she was. And she even washed up on the correct side of the river."

"That's one to us women," Kiree laughed. Duncan scowled at her, but nobody else seemed to take it personally.

"Glad to see you're well, Esmerelle," said Belvar, punctuating his sentiment with a loud sneeze.

"I'm glad to see you well too!" Esme called back. "As soon as Shayla finds a way to get you over here, I'll try to heal those colds you've picked up!"

"What, you've got a way to get us back _now_?" said Duncan. "And not earlier, whilst I was in the worst pain of my life?"

"Esmerelle found my staff and has just returned it to me," Shayla replied. "What I have planned may take some time. I will need to meditate, possibly for several hours whilst I try to commune with the spirits of this place. I suggest you all set up camp where you are over there, keep as warm as you can in case you're there for the night. Kiree, Esme, go and set up a camp of your own a short distance away from here. I need to be alone."

"You're the leader," Kiree shrugged, and gestured for Esmerelle to follow her. Before she left, Esme waved to Lucas and the others, glad that they'd be together again soon.

"Is Shayla really the leader?" she asked as she hurried Blaze along to walk beside the halfling. "Sometimes it seems to me that everybody's the leader, and sometimes it seems that we don't really have a leader at all."

"Well, I guess we don't really have any official leader," Kiree admitted. "But Shayla's on her Journey, and Daeghun's following Shayla because he loves her, and Duncan's following Daeghun because Daeghun's the only family he has left, and Belvar's travelling for his history, I'm here to avoid the Thieves, and Lucas is with us because occasionally something interesting and worthy of song happens. And now we have you, of course. Usually it's Shayla, Belvar or Lucas who decides where we go, because of spiritual stuff, or historical stuff, or musical stuff, and the rest of us just follow for adventure or riches or love. This looks like a good place to set up camp. What do you think?"

"Fine with me," she replied with a shrug, giving the area only a brief glance before tying Blaze's reins to a nearby tree branch.

"Did you see Duncan's face when he realised you'd actually done better than him on your own?" Kiree smiled. "He had _Daeghun_ with him and he _still_ managed to end up with a broken arm, and tired, and cold, and hungry."

"Yeah... about that..." she said hesitantly, taking a seat on the ground and gesturing for Kiree to join her. "I have an admission to make, but I want you to _promise_ you won't mention anything about it to any of the others."

"Ooh, a secret, is it? I love those. And I promise I won't tell. I swear it upon Brandobaris."

"Thanks," she smiled, feeling more at ease about telling her friend the truth. "You see, I didn't exactly get out of the river on my own. I was rescued. I nearly died."

"Next you'll be telling me that one of the korreds pulled you out."

"Not a korred, no. Do you remember that drow we rescued from Red Larch?"

"You're kidding!" Kiree's eyes were wide in astonishment, her mouth open in surprise. "He was _here_?"

"He followed us, and when he saw me fall into the river, he jumped in and saved me."

"Where is he now?" the halfling asked, scanning the trees around them with her eyes narrowed.

"Gone. He left this morning, before I sent up the lightning bolt to let you know where I was."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose it was lucky for you that he followed us. But why don't you want me to mention this to the others? It might even change their opinion about the drow."

"Because," she said, taking a deep breath, "him rescuing me wasn't all that happened."

So she told Kiree about almost everything that had happened during the past few days, and each new part of the story extracted cries of _'you're kidding!'_, _'no way!'_ and _'I don't believe it!'_ from her friend. When she'd finished with her tale, she sat back, and watched emotions flickering across Kiree's face as questions fought each other to be asked first.

"And how was it?" she asked at last with a nefarious grin.

"Well, it's not like I have any prior experience to compare it to," Esme said with a blush. A few weeks ago, she never would have dreamt that she'd be speaking so candidly about something so intimate. "But it was nice. I have no complaints."

"Nice is good for a first time. If you'd said 'horrible' I would have hunted him down and made him pay," said the halfling, removing a shuriken from her belt and flipping it over her knuckles. Then she made it disappear in a nimble feat of slight-of-hand. "At least now you _do_ have prior experience, so the next time should be even more fun." Her tone became more serious as the shuriken was replaced in her belt holder. "But all joking aside, you were right to swear me to secrecy. Shayla must _never_ hear about this. She'd disown us both for freeing your friend..."

"Kalan'Tel," Esme filled in for her.

"Yeah, him. She'd disown us for freeing him, and you for letting him touch you."

"But he saved my life! Surely that must count for something?"

"Shayla can see ulterior motives in _everything_. She'd probably say that he saved you just to make you think you wanted to sleep with him and give him your sword."

"But if could have taken either of those things at any time," she insisted. "I was in and out of consciousness for almost a day after he rescued me, and weak as a kitten until this morning. I honestly believe he wants to change, and I wouldn't change a thing about the past few days."

"Hey, I'm not judging you for it. The gods know you deserve a little happiness and intimacy after living alone for as long as you did. Let's just... not mention it again, alright? You're happy about the way things worked out, I'm happy that you're happy, and we're both happy that nobody else knows about it. We couldn't really ask for a... happier... ending."

_Yes, we could_, Esme thought but didn't say. A happier ending would have been Shayla coming to accept that Kalan'Tel was trying to change, to become a good person, and that not all drow were inherently evil. But as she knew; no amount of wishful thinking would change reality.

o - o - o - o - o

"Esmerelle, Kiree, wake up." Shayla's command, full of confidence and authority, brought Esme out of a dream she'd been having about living in the High Forest again, with Aggie, Eldon and Ali. Only this time, Kalan'Tel had been there too, sharing her life and her bed. Neither Aggie nor Eldon had minded, though Ali had teased her mercilessly about it.

"What's happening?" Kiree asked, covering a wide yawn with the back of her hand.

"The others will be joining us soon," said Shayla, looking down upon the pair who were huddled in their cloaks beside a dying fire. "And then we'll be leaving. Please pack up your camp and join me by the river."

"Now this I have to see," Kiree said, springing up from the ground as soon as Shayla had gone.

Esme threw her arms and legs out, stretching the cramped muscles and working feeling back into her cold toes. "And just what is it exactly that you have to see?"

"Shayla's magic, of course. She doesn't use powerful magic very often because it's very draining, both on her and on the spirits. But if she's been meditating all night, that must mean she has something big planned." She stuffed her cloak into her pack and hastened to untie the horses. "Come on, Esme, let's go before we miss it!"

Picking up on her friend's urgency, Esme hurried to pack her own cloak away, then kicked soil over the dying embers of the fire to extinguish it completely. Once hold of Blaze's reins she clicked her tongue, encouraging the horse into a trot as she jogged to keep up with Kiree and the other two horses. When they reached the bank, they found Shayla standing facing the river. On the opposite side were the men; Daeghun waiting patiently as Ashara scampered up his leg and sat on his shoulder, Duncan pacing the bank in irritation, and Belvar and Lucas wrapped in their cloaks looking dejected and miserable.

"You must be ready to move quickly," Shayla called to them.

Then, without further warning, she raised her staff and brought it down heavily to the ground, banging the end of it on the damp earth. Several runes on the staff began to glow bright blue. Again she raised the staff and brought it down, and some of the tattoos on her body, which matched the carvings on the staff, began to glow with the same colour and intensity. She raised her staff and brought it down once more, and as she did, shapes began to form in the middle of the river. The horses whinnied in fear and tried to rear; Esme was almost pulled off her feet, and Kiree actually _was_ thrown into the air by Lucas' and Duncan's horses before the settled back down. But Esme wasn't paying any attention to her friend, she was too busy squinting at the shapes in the river. They _looked_ like people, only their bodies were made entirely of transparent water.

The people in the river, or whatever they were, turned against the flow and began to push the water back with their hands. Esme blinked, not sure if she was actually seeing what she was seeing. It was as if an invisible wall was separating both halves of the river; down-stream of the people all the water was gone, and up-stream it was being dammed behind some invisible force created by the river-people... or by Shayla. Esme looked at the elf's face, and saw her eyes glowing with the same blue light that had illuminated her staff and her tattoos.

Daeghun and the others weren't standing idle. They had already climbed down onto the rocky bed of the river and were making their way across. Esme held her breath as they reached the halfway point. The wall of water being held up was now towering into the sky, and she quickly realised why. There was a _lot_ of water trying to flow, but because it was being held back, it had nowhere to go - nowhere to go but _up_, that was. Instinctively, she began to back away from the river, bumping into Kiree who was staring open-mouthed at the giant column of water.

After what seemed like an eternity, Daeghun, Lucas and Belvar were on the bank, and as they hauled Duncan up to solid ground by his one good arm, the blue light coming from Shayla and her staff winked out and the shaman slumped to the ground. At that instant, the people made of water finally became water once more, and the column of river collapsed in on itself, falling down under its own sheer weight. As it hit the river bed, the river continued its journey once more, sending a massive amount of spray over both banks. Esme closed her eyes and held on to both Blaze's reins and Kiree's shirt, and the pressure from the water spray almost knocked her off her feet.

When she opened her eyes again, spitting out water that had found its way into her mouth, she saw Daeghun hurrying towards Shayla, whilst a very sodden Duncan, Lucas and Belvar made their way towards the horses. Duncan dropped to the ground beside Kiree, and Esme immediately lay her hands upon his shoulder, sending healing power into his damaged arm. A few seconds later he was on his feet, smiling and throwing his arms around her, lifting her into the air in a huge hug.

"I should start paying you for this, you'd make a fortune off me," he said, putting her back on the ground and trying to give Kiree the same attention. The halfling brandished a shuriken and waved it threateningly at him.

"I might be child-sized," she said with a glare, "but that doesn't mean I like being thrown up into the air like a child."

"Ah, I've dearly missed this friendly banter," said Lucas. His wet hair had been plastered to his head and his nose was bright red, his eyes rimmed with pink. Belvar didn't look much better.

"Say, where's your sword gone?" Duncan asked, noticing that she was once again weaponless.

"I lost it to the river," she told him.

"And that's not the only thing she lost," Kiree added with an innocent smile.

"Err, my prayer book and most of my potions were also lost or broken," she added quickly, wishing she had a way of kicking the halfling without anybody seeing.

"That's a shame," said Belvar, his voice thick because of a stuffy nose. "I could use one of your potions right now for this damned cold."

"Once we've got a warm campfire going, I'll give healing a try," she assured him.

"That will have to wait for a short time," said Shayla. Daeghun was supporting her left arm, and in her right hand she used her staff - now its normal colour - to support the rest of her weight. "For now, I would like to get as far away from this river as possible. I've seen more than enough of this damp place to last me an elven lifetime. Come on, let's go and find somewhere warm to set up for the day. Once we've got some heat on our skin and food in our bellies, we can exchange stories about our adventures."

Esme was pleased to see, as Shayla and Daeghun led the way, that she wasn't the only one who looked reluctant to talk about the time they'd spent apart. Lucas and Belvar looked miserable, and Duncan was positively squirming. Graciously, she allowed everybody else to follow Shayla first, in the hopes that they wouldn't see her blush as she thought about trying to explain the events of the last few days. Just as she was about to follow, she heard a sound behind her, and turned to find herself looking at a short creature with coppery-red hair and light brown skin. It wore only a leather loincloth for protection against the elements, and around its belt were strips of a bright red material. When it saw her looking, it held up one of the strips, waved it in the hair, and grinned. Then it turned and ran into the forest, cackling maniacally as it went.

* * *

_Dear Readers_

_Something terrible has happened. I have lost approximately 20 years of time._

_You see, I'd originally planned for Esmerelle to be born just prior to the Godswar... she was supposed to be rescued from the temple of Bhaal during it, and certain aspects of the story (particularly certain conversations within it) revolve around this. However, as there is less than 20 years between the Godswar and the events of NWN2, there just isn't enough time for Esmerelle to grow up, for Kail to be born and age to 23 (as she is at the start of Kail's Story)._

_Yes, I **could** in theory go altering my entire story to make it so that Life is a Circle occurs 20 years earlier than I'm theoretically putting it, and I know the maths doesn't work out because Kail needs to be born in 1351DR (shortly after which her mother dies) and yet the events of BG2 (which will later be referenced in this story and pertain to Esmerelle) won't occur until many years after Esme is already supposed to be dead._

_Buuuut... tweaking everything like that will be very time consuming and will alter my story which I have so meticulously (timeline notwithstanding) worked out. So, if you haven't noticed the temporal anomalies, please continue to not notice them! If you **have** noticed them, then please take this bottle of alcohol [you are given a suspicious bottle of clear liquid], this bag of mysterious mushrooms [the colours of the mushrooms seem to swirl before your eyes, leaving you unsure of their true nature] and please step into this innocent looking box thing which definitely isn't a time machine [the innocent looking box things hums with octarine energy as you approach it] and do not under any circumstances press the big red button [labelled "Please do not push this big red button" for your convenience] once you are inside._

_-Llandaryn; forgetting major world events since 1325 DR._


	25. Recordar

Chapter 25.

Recordar

"_It is the mark of a good action that it appears inevitable in retrospect."_ - Robert Louis Stevenson

o - o - o - o - o

As was usual in the north of Faerûn, summer became winter rapidly, with only a brief, golden autumn to separate the two. The birds began to migrate and animals prepared to hibernate or roam further afield in search of food. Deciduous trees began to drop their leaves, coating the ground in a crisp warm-hued blanket. As Auril began to extend her influence from her glacier realm in the frozen north, Esmerelle and her friends began to live a more sedentary lifestyle.

There were still caravans to escort and still work to be taken, but the jobs were smaller and more local. The group chose Neverwinter as its temporary home - they'd already wintered in Waterdeep and Silverymoon in previous years, Kiree informed Esmerelle - and for much of the time they went their own separate ways. Lucas predictably spent most of his time performing in inns and taverns across the city. His favourite haunt was the Blacklake District, home to the nobles and better-off merchants of Neverwinter. When he wasn't performing he could usually be found sipping mulled wine and dozing in front of a warm fire - at least, that was the impression he gave. But Esme had watched him dozing, and she knew that he was actually faking sleep, using it as a guise to eaves-drop on his fellow drinkers. She confronted him about it once, curious about why he felt the need to spy in such a way. He'd merely told her that it was a good way of keeping his skills sharp, and that nobody really paid attention to an old man who was dribbling and snoring away in the corner.

The inns and taverns that Duncan preferred to frequent were of an entirely different nature to the ones in which Lucas played. They tended to have musicians rather than bards or minstrels - the difference between musicians and bards, Lucas told her, was that bards had standards - who favoured simple flutes and whistles as instruments. The clientele were loud and boisterous, and fights weren't uncommon. Such places didn't serve the genteel drinks preferred by the Blacklake denizens, and that was just the way the patrons liked it. Cheap wine, cheap ale and locally produced moonshine was the common fare, and Esme had discovered that she'd like none of them. Although Duncan did manage to talk her into accompanying him around the taverns a few times, she just couldn't enjoy herself. It was entirely too loud for her liking, and she had been mistaken for a serving girl more than once. Whenever that happened, it usually ended up with Duncan punching somebody to protect her honour - and also to protect her from molestation - after which a full-blown brawl would inevitably ensue.

Belvar, meanwhile, alternated his time between working and studying. He took more work than anybody else, and it varied between escorting caravans, guard-work on some of the richer estates, and plain mercenary work which he didn't seem to want to go into detail about. Lucas speculated, when the dwarf wasn't around, that whatever he was doing was probably getting him access to something old and off-limits, perhaps a dig-site or important works of art. Whatever it was, Belvar never talked about it once his work was complete, he simply packed himself off to the Neverwinter Archives for days at a time and spent long hours doing solitary research. Esme accompanied him a few times, sometimes to work on her own projects, sometimes to help him on his, but all she was able to glean was that his studies involved mythology from many different cultures and races.

Shayla spent a lot of time outside of Neverwinter, or roaming the streets of its often dangerous Dock district, or the aptly named Beggar's Nest, sometimes with Daeghun, sometimes without him. Esme often worried when the elf went off alone, but Daeghun told her not to be concerned, that Shayla was more than capable of taking care of herself, and that to become shaman, she had to walk all paths around her regardless of where they might take her. Still, he did seem somewhat preoccupied when his lover went off without him. Lucas told Esme it was because Shayla had never seemed so determined to become a shaman - nor as distracted by her quest - and that the concerns of the wild elves were weighing heavily on her shoulders. Duncan told Esme it was because Daeghun was afraid of losing Shayla.

Esme didn't know who to believe. She wished she could have discussed her concerns with Kiree, but the halfling was often absent even more than Shayla. When she did turn up, it was usually to have a quick meal, a bath, a few hours of sleep, and then she was off again, evading questions of where she was going and what she was doing even more expertly than Belvar. Several times, Esme tried to entice her friend out on shopping trips, but Kiree merely grinned and replied that there would be plenty of time for shopping, before disappearing again. Nobody except Lucas seemed overly keen on speculating where the tiny woman went for days at a time, and he simply explained that sometimes, one missed socializing with others well-versed in the craft. What craft that was exactly Esme didn't ask, but she suspected it was thievery. Not wanting to intrude into her friend's personal business, she gave Kiree the space she seemed to crave.

Esme, meanwhile, did not spend the winter sitting idle. She perused the markets for components for potions, and managed to rent out a room of cupboard-like proportions from a local shop-keeper. It was a tight-fit, but it was the only place she could find with a suitable workbench, so she made the trek across the city several times a week to cook up potions and work on new recipes. She also went to the Neverwinter Academy several times to watch magical demonstrations given by the students there. Her own magical studies had been effectively placed on hold while she had been travelling with her friends, and she relished the opportunity to learn more about the craft which Aggie had started teaching her.

In the hopes of speaking with the alchemist Aggie had spoken so highly of - Aldanon, she recalled - she convinced Belvar to use his access to the Archives to locate his address for her, and then went to his house in the Blacklake district hoping he'd give her an audience. When she arrived, she was simply told by the elderly butler that Master Aldanon was busy in Court and did not like being interrupted at home by visitors. Unwilling to give up so easily, she talked Lucas into attending Court with her, and they dressed in the finest garments they owned and set off one evening to rub shoulders with the gentry.

Neverwinter's Court was an entirely different world to even the Blacklake District, and it was so far removed from the Docks District and Beggar's Nest that it might as well have been in a completely different land. The long stone corridors of Castle Never were immaculately swept. Where the common rooms of the most impoverished Neverwinter taverns were covered in a layer of straw or sawdust (to help soak up the blood or the vomit, Duncan informed her), the halls of Castle Never were covered in long runner carpets which cushioned the delicate feet of the nobles. Where tavern walls were adorned with rusty old weapons and interesting collections of stains, the walls of the Castle held priceless portraits of the ruling class, and ancient suits of armour, polished by hordes of servants until they shone, lined the corridors, their weapons held aloft in a silent declaration of defence. The ubiquitous sweat-stained, ale-reeking tavern patrons were replaced by men and women so resplendent in their bold finery, that they more resembled birds with plumes of bright silks and velvets, than people.

Wandering amongst them, Esme couldn't help but compare and contrast them to the people she had seen in Silverymoon. Here, the tone was more demure and sedate. Clothes covered more skin and involved more layers. The upper class of Silverymoon wasn't as far removed from the lower class, as was the case in Neverwinter. Lucas told her it was because Silverymoon was an open city, whereas certain areas of Neverwinter were closed to anybody who lacked the coin to access them. The poorest beggar in Neverwinter might be able to sneak into the Blacklake District, but he'd be removed as soon as the City Watch found him. And in addition, the people of Neverwinter practiced the fine art of politics more often than did those of Silverymoon; they had to, with the proximity of Luskan and Waterdeep, both trading rivals, to keep them on their toes.

Much careful questioning finally brought her to Aldanon; he was a white-haired man of a similar age to Lucas, and he quickly informed her that he was far too busy with his own research to teach her anything, but that she was welcome to some of his old notes. He remembered Aggie fondly, and was glad that the old witch had passed along some of her knowledge before passing away. Young people these days were too concerned with fast results and magic for the sake of magic, he complained. Very few of them wanted to spend the time and effort on brewing potions when a magical spell could achieve the same effects much faster. Lucas emphatically agreed with him, until Esmerelle glared at him, after which he transferred his attention to explaining the cross-cultural influences on the various paintings around the room.

Armed with a pile of Aldanon's notes which the snooty butler hadn't seemed to like giving her, Esme returned to her small workspace and began further experimentation with potions. Over the darkest winter days she churned out a plethora of healing potions, disease cures, sense-enhancers, size enhancers (which proved quite popular with the male populace, many of whom would furtively enter the store where she worked and slip her a small pile of silver for a couple of the bottles), strength enhancers and potions to cloud the mind as well as clear it again. The potions she didn't keep for her own use she sold in her landlord's shop, and cut him in for a percentage of the profit. Soon she had quite a healthy supply of coin, some of which she spent on her friends as repayment for what they had spent on her, and the rest she squirreled away for a rainy day. In fact, the potion business was going so well that the shop-keeper offered to build an extension on the shop for her, to give her a larger space to work. At the height of potion sales, he even spoke of hiring on an apprentice or two, to help with production. Esme was quick to remind him that their arrangement was temporary, and that she would be leaving with her friends in spring. He nodded and smiled at her, but the greedy gleam never quite left his eyes.

She often spent her evenings thinking and day-dreaming about the people she'd met so far throughout her life. Inevitably, her thoughts turned first to the temple of Lathander. Her old childhood friend, Ali, would no longer be a child. Instead she would be a young woman, on the verge of full priesthood. Was she still studying at the temple? Did she ever think of Esme, and reflect fondly upon their time spent picking apples in the orchard?

And what about Eldon? Was he still teaching youngsters about the ways of Lathander? Was he still living alone? Had he adopted other children, or perhaps found himself a wife and married by now? Did he blame himself for her running away? Did the young women acolytes still giggle together about how handsome he was?

When she thought about her time in the High Forest, she wondered about how the fey were getting on without her. True, she'd only been gone a few months, and it wasn't as if they were helpless. But she'd always thought of them as child-like, even though they were older than her, and she'd always been a little protective of them. She also wished she could have said goodbye and good luck to Master Zim. Had he worried, when neither she nor Aggie had appeared at the river in autumn? And what would he think when neither of them appeared in spring? Silently, she wished him luck, and asked Lathander to watch over him.

Most of the time, her thoughts passed over Elim; she had no doubt that he was doing well behind the bar of Treant's Hall, and probably had a myriad of young women to occupy his time. Instead, she thought about Haluar, and wondered how he was coping with the loss of his brother. Where were the wild elves now? Were they still travelling, or had they settled down in another area of the Kryptgarden Forest? Had Eldreth Veluuthra sent anybody into their midst? Was Tirisar still captive, or had the elves decided to execute him after all? And had Haluar meant what he'd said about her being worth pursuing for two years? If he did, it was the nicest thing anybody had ever said to her.

When she thought about Kalan'Tel, she wondered how he was coping with life on the surface. She hoped he'd found somewhere warm and safe to spend the winter, and that he'd managed to evade further capture. More than once, she questioned whether she'd done the right thing in freeing him, healing him, arming him, and sending him off into the world. But in the moments when she doubted herself most, she recalled that she had healed him with power granted to her by Lathander, and if her god hadn't wanted her to heal the drow, then surely He wouldn't have allowed it. Not that Shayla and the others would see it that way, which was why she had to keep her actions a secret from everybody but Kiree.

Even though the group of friends spent most of their days apart, they made a point of eating a meal together at least one evening every tenday. Mostly they spent the night dining and reminiscing about times past, as well as discussing their prospects for the future. As the winter began to march inexorably to spring, it was obvious that everybody was ready for a change in scenery. Duncan was restless; he'd long since grown bored with carousing and now wanted another taste of action and adventure. He'd heard a rumour about a nearby dragon hoarding treasure, and wanted to visit its lair as soon as the weather turned finer. To a warrior like Duncan, there was no finer accolade than slaying a dragon.

Belvar, meanwhile, wanted to travel to Sundabar, to study in the great library there. Lucas wholeheartedly supported the idea; he wanted to visit the Anauroch one day, and Sundabar was as close to the Anaruoch as a person could get. Shayla wanted to travel south along the coast, and Daeghun naturally supported Shayla's decision. Kiree claimed she didn't care where they went, as long as there was plenty of money to be found there. They spent an entire evening close to the arrival of spring discussing the topic, but by the end of the night they were no closer to making a decision. Kiree and Duncan disappeared after that, and Belvar retired to bed. Esme stayed up for a while longer, talking with Shayla, Daeghun and Lucas about the merits of the various cities along the coast, and then decided to have a somewhat early night. In truth, she didn't mind where she ended up next, as long as her friends were with her.

o - o - o - o - o

Crouched over the alchemist's workbench, Esme held her breath and squeezed three drops of fennel from the pipette in her hand out into the delicate glass tube held in a rack on the bench. The liquid in the tube turned yellow briefly, then changed to bright green. With a sigh of frustration, Esme dropped the pipette on the bench and folded her arms over her chest, giving the tube a good glaring in the hopes that it might spontaneously change back to yellow to avoid her wrath. Sadly, it didn't.

She'd been trying to brew this particular potion, a rare form of shape-shifting potion, for the past week. Aldanon's notes were often more confusing than they were helpful. He'd developed his own sort of private language, a type of shorthand script combined with nicknames for components which simply didn't make any sense to her. Half of what she was doing was guesswork, and the other half was experimentation.

"How's it going?" said a familiar voice behind her. She turned to find Lucas watching her with a bemused expression on his face. He was twirling one side of his moustache around his finger in an attempt to hide a smile.

"Not as well as I'd hoped," she said, picking up one of Aldanon's papers and thrusting it at him. "What in Lathander's name is 'add to mixture five pinches of Waterdeep Fayre' supposed to mean?" she asked, pointing at a scribbled note at the edge of the page.

"Hmm. To me it would suggest that you add five pinches of anise, mint, cinnamon and chives to your mixture."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's a line from an old song," he said, and cleared his voice before breaking into verse. "_Are you going to Waterdeep Fair?Anise, Mint, Cinnamon and Chives. Remember me to one who was there, she was a fair lover of mine._"

"You might be right," she admitted reluctantly. "But it doesn't tell me how big a pinch is, or whether I add five pinches of each, or five pinches in total of the herbs mixed together. Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?" she asked slyly. "I could use a little help deciphering Aldanon's scribbles."

"Actually, I came along to invite you to an impromptu performance that's being held down at Black Lake."

"I should really work some more on the potions," she said, unable to keep the hesitant tone from her voice.

"Oh, come on now, there'll be plenty of time for that tomorrow, surely? For now the weather's fine and the ice on the lake will make a perfect backdrop for a winter show."

"Well… I suppose a _short_ break would be okay," she said reluctantly.

"Excellent!" Lucas smiled. Esme removed the protective gloves and apron she was wearing, hanging the latter up on the back of the door and donning her coat in its place.

"Who else is watching the show?" she asked, opening the door for Lucas. She followed him out onto the street and locked the door after herself.

"Just you and I. Duncan's busy nursing a hang-over, and Shayla is refusing to heal him. Daeghun and Belvar are discussing where we'll go once Auril's relinquished her grip on the land, and Kiree's gone only Brandobaris knows where to do her own thing. Besides, sometimes it takes a human to appreciate human entertainment. After the show we can get a bite to eat and do some shopping too, if you like."

"Food _and_ shopping? Somebody's in a good mood!" she grinned. Lucas was less averted to shopping than Duncan, but he didn't normally volunteer to spend his free time trawling around shops.

"I'm just pleased winter's on its way out. I can feel it in my bones; spring's just around the corner."

When Lucas offered his arm, she linked hers through his and allowed him to set a strolling pace down the street. The hour was still young, not even halfway to midday, but every shop in the district was open for business, and the locals walked briskly between them, carrying baskets of vegetables, bread, candles, soap, oil, and all the other small necessities of every-day life. From smaller tarp-covered stalls, sellers hawked their wares whilst steady streams of sailors, dock-hands and off-duty guards strolled in and out of taverns.

"Tell me," Lucas said, "how are you finding the grand life of an adventurer?"

" I enjoy the company," she smiled. "And I've enjoyed everything so far. Staying here in Neverwinter has been nice and relaxing… part of me will regret when we have to leave, but part or me is eager to get moving and exploring again."

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to, you know. You're doing well for yourself here. Your potion business is starting to take off, and I suspect if you applied to join the Academy, they'd accept you quite readily."

"I have thought about it," she admitted with a small guilty blush. "And maybe in a few years, I'll find somewhere to settle down and start my own business. But right now, I'm having too much fun seeing new sights and meeting new people. Plus, I'd miss you all too much… what's wrong?" she asked, when she felt Lucas stiffen.

"We're being followed. No, don't look back, it will only let him know we're aware of him."

"Who's following us, and why?" she asked as tiny tendrils of fear and alarm plucked at her heart and made her blood turn cold. What if it was somebody who recognized her from the temple? Or somebody who could spot a Bhaalspawn in a crowd? Or somebody who knew that she had released Kalan'Tel from his cage?

"I don't know who he is, I've never seen him before. Here, I'll show you." He led her towards a shop window, and stopped her before it. "Look at the reflections. The man following us is behind and to the right, on the opposite side of the street. He's just bent down to re-tie a shoe lace that didn't need re-tying."

Esme peered at the glass, trying to ignore the jewelry on sale behind the window, and spotted the man in question. His long brown hair was tied back, and he wore short brown breeches and a plain white shirt - common attire, nothing mark him from the crowd. She couldn't see his face clearly, but she knew she had never seen him before; she had a good memory for faces.

"You look relieved," Lucas said, and she cursed his observational skills. "Were you expecting to see somebody you recognised?"

"I'm not sure what I was expecting," she replied. "Are you sure he's following us?"

"Quite. But as for why… I don't know. Maybe he's an opportunistic thief. Or perhaps somebody disgruntled that one of your size potions didn't work correctly," he chuckled darkly. "Come, let us continue towards Black Lake. If our follower is indeed a thief, we'll lose him as soon as he finds a better mark."

She let Lucas resume leading her down the street, but she was worried. He sounded doubtful about the man being a thief, but who else would be following them? Nothing about she or Lucas made them stand out much from the local crowd - they were both dressed well, but not in finery. Her own dress was made of thick material, to keep out the cold, and cut and sewn plainly, with only a little embroidery and beadwork, whilst Lucas was dressed no more opulently than a small-time merchant. And since the group were known as seasoned adventurers, very few thieves were willing to try their luck at robbing them; since arriving in Neverwinter, only Duncan had had his pockets picked, but he had been blind drunk at the time.

They continued at their strolling place, but she barely paid attention to Lucas' continuous commentary about the wares in the local shop windows; she knew that he was putting on a performance for the benefit of their follower. After several moments of casual strolling and idle conversation, he turned her suddenly off the main street into a smaller alleyway that separated two shops.

"What are we doing?" she hissed, her heart suddenly beating faster.

"Our follower has two friends waiting for him further down the road, and they didn't look the type to be kindly disposed towards us. I don't know who they are or what they want, but you should prepare yourself for violence."

He increased his pace, pulling her along beside him down the alleyway. When they reached a crossroad of alleys they took the left turn, and then took a right turn, which turned out to be a dead end. As the sound of pursuing footsteps drew closer, Esme silently readied a spell, and waited as her heart pounded in her chest. She was no stranger to combat, now, but other than her brief encounter with Tirisar, she had only ever fought against goblinoids and once, when she and her friends had taken a job clearing out an ancient family crypt, the undead. She'd never had to use her magic against a human before, and she was worried about causing her opponent harm, despite his possibly hostile intentions.

The sound of multiple pairs of feet echoed around the buildings, the sound of boots on cobbles muffled somewhat by the high walls around them. Three figures appeared in the mouth of the alley; one was their follower from the main street, and the others were equally plain-dressed, nondescript men. One of them immediately reached for the sword on his hip, whilst the other handled a flail with ease. Lucas, meanwhile, removed a small throwing knife from his sleeve and began twirling it in his fingers, flipping it over the knuckle of each one. He stood tall with his back straight, and his free hand hovering above the handle of his short sword.

"Gentlemen," he said imperiously. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yeah," said the man who had followed them down the street, in a drawling accent that Esme didn't recognise, "You can come with us quiet-like, no fuss."

"And where, pray tell, would you like me to go with you?"

"It's time you joined the rest of your kin."

"I'm sorry, my friends, but you seem to have mistaken me for somebody else," said Lucas. His words were pleasant, but Esme heard the dangerous tone in his voice, and it frightened her. The knife in his fingers suddenly seemed less of an old bard's parlour trick, and more of a real threat. "I have no kin that I know of. I was a foundling, you see, and now I am an old man. The years betwixt the two were filled with grand adventures, and now I wish nothing more than to relax by a warm fire with a glass of wine to keep my fingers occupied."

"No, Arnan, we have not mistaken you," the man said, taking two steps closer to them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an amulet, which was suspended from a silver chain. The amulet itself was made of a long white crystal - quartz, Esme suspected - and it spun around as it dangled from the chain. _It's enchanted_, she thought, and sure enough, as it spun, a soft white light emanated from it. The light went straight to Lucas, stopping dead in the centre of his chest. "You see, Arnan, this is how we have tracked you," the man explained. "Ever since the Tenth Day we have hunted you. You have always remained ahead of us. We heard word of your passing wherever you went - Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Silverymoon, Baldur's Gate, but we always came too late to find you. You have been a worthy adversary, but now our chase has ended. With your death, we have fulfilled our oath, and we can finally return home. Ten of us set out to find you, and we three are all that remain. But three is enough."

_Something's wrong,_ Esmerelle thought, watching the face of the man and his two companions, who hovered behind him with their weapons at the ready. Their faces were... almost calm. These were no simple thieves, nor did they appear to be the type of men who used violence for the sheer love of it. They spoke of threatening Lucas' life as if it was some sort of task that had been given to them. And why were they calling him 'Arnan'?

"You, girl," the man said, appearing to notice her for the first time. "Are you this man's child, or grandchild?"

"Not that it's any of your business," she said, attempting to draw herself up to his height and failing quite badly, "but no, I am not. Lucas told you the truth. He doesn't have any family."

"The girl can go," the man said, turning back to Lucas and putting away the amulet. "We have no quarrel with her. But the line of Alemander ends here."

Without warning, the man drew his sword and leapt towards Lucas. The old man quickly let his dagger fly, but his assailant knocked it out of the air with his weapon. Behind him, his two companions advanced towards Lucas, the one with the sword moving to flank him, and the one with the flail standing behind the leader as backup.

"Esmerelle!" Lucas shouted. "I cannot fight all three on my own! I need your help!"

She tried to move, to take a step forward, to speak the words of the magic missile spell she had been preparing, but she could not. The missile spell could kill a man, and had promised herself that she would never kill, not for any reason. But more than that, these men were honourable. She knew, because they spoke of oaths, and evil men did not make selfless oaths. Seven of them had died already tracking Lucas, and she couldn't bring herself to make that eight. Instead of the missile spell, she spoke the words of a spell that Aggie had once used on her - hold person. The assailant with the sword immediately stopped, his body held immobile, frozen in mid-strike.

"Stop her!" the leader of the three growled at the man with the flail. The latter turned his attention towards her, and as Lucas engaged his attacker with his own short sword, she backed slowly away and tried desperately to think. Her mind raced as she thought of, and then discarded, her repertoire of spells. Most of what she knew was harmful, and this man had already shrugged off one hold spell; she doubted another would work. On the verge of trying a charm spell, the man lunged at her, and she jerked her body backwards just in time; his hand closed, his fingers brushing her hair but not catching it. Her mouth went dry as she looked at the man's face; it was blank, neutral, giving nothing away. This man, she realised, didn't want to kill her. But he would, if she stood between him and his goal. He was tired and desperate and she wished with all of her heart that neither of them was there right now. But she had learnt long ago that wishing for something did not make it true.

The man lunged for her again, and again she ducked back just in time, and in the background she heard the sound of steel clashing against steel, Lucas' breathing ragged and heavy to her ears. Her assailant, she quickly understood, wasn't trying to kill her. His weapon was still held low; he didn't see her as a threat. He was simply herding her backwards, out of the alley, away from Lucas. Away from the fight. He probably hoped she'd run when she realised she could escape. He didn't expect her to try to get past him.

Her eyes fell on something long sticking out of a water barrel just off to her right. At first it looked like a staff, then she realised it was too narrow to be a weapon. In fact, it was a broom handle, the head of the implement having been damaged and removed by its owner. She didn't make a conscious decision to use it, she merely acted, her body guiding itself. Her body, with no conscious control from her mind, spun off to the side the next time the man lunged for her, and she reached out, taking the long wooden pole in her hands. She lifted and pulled, and it came freely out of the barrel. She turned back, swinging the pole with all of her strength. It wasn't much, but it was enough; she had intended to catch the man a blow to his stomach, winding him, but providence or serendipity or misfortune played its hand. The man saw her grab the pole, and he saw her begin to turn, bringing the impromptu weapon around in an arc. He started to lean to one side, to dodge the blow, but he put his foot down on a patch of ice, a leak from the water barrel that had frozen over during the cold night.

Time seemed to slow for Esmerelle. Her body moved. The man's foot slipped from under him. He dropped to one knee. The pole whistled through the cold air. The man raised his head, his eyes meeting hers. Eyes that were tired and hollow, eyes that blamed and forgave her at the same time. The pole connected to the side of the man's head, striking him on his temple. The wood broke, snapping in two, splinters flying everywhere. Then time sped up to its normal pace. The man collapsed to the ground, and the sound of fighting behind her returned.

There was a cry of pain, and she turned in time to see Lucas pulling his sword out of his assailant's chest. The length of the blade was red, and red liquid drops fell to the floor. For an instant, the puddle of red forming beneath the stabbed man, who now lay prone amongst the effluent and refuse, took up all of her attention. Then movement caught her eye, and she saw her friend move towards the held man, his dagger in his hand.

"LUCAS, NO!" she cried, or thought she did. He didn't hear her, or he ignored her. In one swift motion he slit the throat of the man suspended in the air. More red liquid began to pool onto the floor. And then Lucas was wiping his dagger and his sword on the dead man's clothes, sheathing his weapons. The only red that was on him, did not belong to him.

"Come on, Esmerelle," he said, taking her by the arm, "it's time to go."

She heard his words but did not understand. Her mind was overwhelmed with trying to process everything that had happened. It told her that she had been in that alleyway for an eternity; there had never been a time when she wasn't in the alleyway, standing amongst the bodies, watching puddles of red forming on the frozen ground. But her body told her that no more than a minute could have passed since the leader of the dead men had drawn his weapon. Her mind, desperately trying to understand her situation, grasped at the first thought it found; _How can I fix this?_

Shaking off Lucas' grip of her arm, she knelt beside the man she had struck. Blood was pouring from his nose, bubbling at his nostrils. _Bubbles are good. It means he's breathing._

"Esmerelle, what are you doing?" Lucas was standing right beside her, right over her, but his voice sounded as if it was a thousand miles away.

"I have to fix this." The voice was hers, but it was also too far away.

The pulled back the lids of the man's eyes. Where there was supposed to be white, there was red. _Head injury. Lots of damage. This is bad. No... No, not necessarily. It might not be bad._ She noticed that one pupil was large, dilated, and the other was small, contracted. _Concussion. It's concussion._ Then, turning his head, she saw pale, bloodless fluid leaking out from his ears, and her heart went cold. _Not concussion. Compression. Massive internal bleeding. Even if I stop the bleeding, I can't repair all of the damaged brain tissue. I can't replace that fluid. But I have to try._

"ESMERELLE!"

She found herself stand, Lucas' hands gripping her arms. He had hauled her to her feet, and was shaking her gently.

"I... I have to heal him, Lucas," she said. The knowledge of what had happened suddenly hit her like a physical force, and warm tears sprung into her eyes.

"You can't help him, Esmerelle," Lucas said. "You can't help any of them. They are already dead."

"I didn't mean to kill them," she said, and it came out as a sob. "I didn't mean it. It was an accident, I swear."

"I know, I know," he said, pitching his voice to be soothing. It didn't help. "You're a good person. I would have died if it hadn't been for you."

"I... I have to turn myself in," she said, pulling away from him, standing a little straighter. "The Watch... I should tell them what happened. I have to confess."

"You'll do no such thing," he said harshly. He grabbed her wrist and began pulling her out of the alley. She tried to fight, but her body had had enough of that for one day.

"But Lucas, I just murdered somebody!" she cried, partially aware that hysteria was setting in, but mostly not caring. What was a bit of hysteria compared to murder? She deserved far, far worse.

"No, you struck back in self defence. The Watch don't like dealing with this sort of stuff. They're here to maintain order, to protect the people who pay their taxes. People like you and I, like these men, we come here and we spend our money, but we don't pay taxes, we don't have the same rights as the citizens. All they'll see is three dead men, and you saying it's your fault. They'll have a hangman's noose around you neck within the hour, and I'm not going to let you throw your life away on a botched mugging."

"A mugging?" she demanded indignantly. She stopped abruptly, and Lucas found himself stopped too, unable to pull her forwards. "This wasn't a mugging gone wrong, Lucas. Those men knew you. They'd been hunting you, for a very long time by the sound of it."

"It was a mugging, Esmerelle," he said with a frown. "It's one of the oldest cons in the books. Tell someone that you know them, that they owe you, that you want to settle the debt, get them to go with you somewhere secluded, then mug them. That's all this was. They didn't know me, and they didn't know you. All they saw were two targets. Two people they could make some quick gold out of. For all we know they would have held you for ransom. You did the right thing. Now come on, we don't want to be around here when these bodies are found."

She offered no more resistance, simply allowed him to pull her along. When they reached the main road, he slowed down, and took her arm in his, continuing their stroll as if nothing had happened. They went not to Black Lake, for which she was thankful, but back in the direction of The Fox and Firkin, the inn they were staying at whilst in Neverwinter. As they walked, she let her tears dry, and tried not to think. Thinking hurt too much, because she wanted to believe Lucas. He was old and wise and he had always been good to her, always been nice, always friendly and ready with a laugh and a twinkle in his eye. But he had just stabbed a man through the chest. He had just cut the throat of somebody who could offer no resistance. And only one thought had drifted through her mind as she had listened to his explanation of the mugging gone wrong.

_He's lying to me._

* * *

A/N - Sorry it's been a while. I'm back for the time being. Simon & Garfunkel fans may recognise _Scarborough Fair._ It was originally a traditional English balled. Recommend you have a listen to it on the ol' Youtube.


	26. Rogue Tales

Chapter 26.

Rogue Tales

"_Character is what you have left when you've lost everything you can lose."_ - Evan Esar

o - o - o - o - o

Roads passed in a blur of motion. Every face which glanced at her seemed to loom threateningly with accusation in its eyes. The normalcy of street-life seemed a mockery, the laughter of playing children as cruel and harsh as the blade of a knife. How could these people carry on about their every-day business when only streets away, three bodies lay lifeless in an empty alley? Would the bustle of city life continue if these people knew about the murders which had happened a stone's throw away from their little bubbles of safety?

Esmerelle closed her eyes as Lucas dragged her along the street, but the darkness of her closed lids brought no relief. Instead of the silent accusations of passers-by, she had to face the guilt of her own mind. It spewed out images of bodies lying bloodied and torn on the dirty cobbled ground, men lying dead with no funeral rights and nobody to mourn their passing. A sickening thought crept into her head; these men may have had families, people who loved them. Had their strong arms once held small children and loving wives? Had Esmerelle, in a moment of panic, taken somebody's husband, father, brother, son, away from a caring family?

So wracked with guilt was she, that she barely even noticed when Lucas led her into the inn where they stayed and sat her down at a table. Her mind, still back in that dirty, blood-stained alleyway, did not see her friends crowd around her, nor the concern painting their faces when they saw her blood-spattered coat and snow-white pallour. She heard their voices distantly, as if they spoke to her through a hazy, half-remembered dream.

"By the gods, what happened?" Duncan exclaimed before anybody else could speak. He hovered around Esmerelle, apparently torn between taking her hand and removing her coat. Unable to decide which action to take, and angry at his own inability to decide, he rounded angrily on Lucas. "What have you done to Esmerelle?"

"I did nothing," Lucas said, perching on the edge of a table, giving Esmerelle space as everybody else gathered 'round. "We ran into brigands and had to defend ourselves. That is all."

"The thieves must be getting bold, or desperate, if they attacked the pair of you in broad daylight," Daeghun mused. His face was carefully blank, but his dark green eyes were intense as they flickered from Lucas to Esmerelle and back again. Belvar grumbled an angry dwarven curse, and Lucas merely shrugged in response.

"Shayla, what's wrong with Esmerelle?" Duncan asked, casting a worried glance at the unseeing young woman.

Shayla closed her eyes and held her hands above Esme's head, her fingers hovering just over the other woman's scalp. For a few eternal seconds she was silent, and those watching had a strong impression that, for a brief instant, the elf actually left the room and went elsewhere. Then she opened her eyes, and allowed a small sigh of relief to escape her delicate lips.

"Nothing but a little shock. Duncan, please ask the bartender for a small glass of brandy and a dish of hot soup."

Duncan was up and marching purposefully towards the bar before Shayla's sentence was even finished. He returned after a scant few seconds with the brandy, which he handed to Shayla, and the barkeep's assurance that the soup would follow shortly. The rest of the patrons, denied the dramatics they had hoped for upon catching sight of two blood-covered characters, returned to their own conversations and drinks.

Shayla, meanwhile, crouched down in front Esmerelle and placed the glass in the young woman's limp hands, holding it in place with one of her own. She lifted her other hand and held Esme's chin in her long fingers, forcing the other woman to meet her eyes.

"Esmerelle, listen to me," she said, in a voice that was both gentle and commanding, her words only slightly tinged with her accent. "You've had a scare, and that's understandable. But now you need to drink, and then you can tell us all about it."

Her words seemed to have some effect. Esme lifted the glass to her lips, though Shayla kept her own hand there in case the glass slipped, and drank greedily of the honey-brown liquid. An instant later she broke into a coughing fit as the brandy warmed her mouth and throat, and then hit her stomach and spread to the rest of her body. Tears appeared in her eyes, caused by the heat of the drink and the burning sensation in her empty stomach.

"Where am I?" Esme gasped, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"You're back at the inn. Lucas brought you here after you were attacked," said Shayla, then she turned to Kiree who was hovering at her elbow. "Go and see what is taking so long for that soup to get here." The halfling dashed away and Shayla turned her attention back to Esme. "How are you feeling now? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Oh, Shayla, I killed a man!" she cried, feeling new tears in her eyes for a different reason. "I'm a murderer!"

"Death is always regretful," Shayla said solemnly. She sensed that Esme did not want coddling or platitudes claiming that everything would be okay. She knew from experience that killing a person could change how you felt about yourself and the world around you. "But you are not a murderer. Murder is pre-meditated. You simply defended yourself against thieves, and that is understandable."

"No, they weren't thieves."

"She may have hit her head during the fight," Lucas said, shifting his perch on the table.

"I didn't hit my head and you know it, just as you knew those men weren't thieves when they attacked you!"

"Esmerelle, there is no sense in getting yourself worked up," Daeghun said, with infuriating calmness in his voice. Kiree, meanwhile, returned to the group with a bowl of soup and placed it on the table. Esme ignored it. "Why don't you tell us what happened? Start at the beginning."

"I've already told you what happened," Lucas interjected. "I decided to invite Esmerelle along to an impromptu performance at Black Lake. On our way there I realised we were being followed and we ducked into an alley to try to lose the men stalking us. They attacked and we fought back, and consequently killed them. It was them or us, and I make no apologies for choosing us."

"But I did not ask you," Daeghun said. Those six words were stronger than any outburst of anger; they were a rebuke, parent to naughty child, and Lucas' cheeks went pink with anger at being spoken to like a child. "Esmerelle does not seem to agree with your recounting of events, and thieves do not normally try to kill their victims. You can only steal from a dead man once." Here, Kiree nodded emphatically. "I would like to hear what happened from Esmerelle's perspective."

Esme, buoyed by somebody finally believing her and taking her fears seriously, launched into her tale before Lucas could protest again.

"As Lucas said, we were heading towards Black Lake, and then Lucas noticed we were being followed. We walked for a while but it was obvious we wouldn't be rid of our followers easily. Lucas took us into some alleys but we came to a dead end. Then the men confronted us... there were three of them, and they spoke with accents I've never heard before, but they didn't look any different. I mean, they looked like anybody you might see out on the streets here. They called Lucas 'Arnan', and said that they'd been hunting him for a long time... since the Tenth Day, whatever that means. They had an amulet which gave out light which pointed towards Lucas. And then they said that the line of Alemander would now be ended, and attacked us. One of them tried to keep me distracted, to stop me from helping Lucas. They said that they wouldn't hurt me, because I wasn't related to him. I trapped one of them in a Hold spell, and... it was an accident, I swear. I didn't mean to kill him. He came at me with his weapon, and I thought to disarm him, or give him a non-fatal injury. But he slipped and I hit his head. After the fight I wanted to try to save him, but Lucas said it was too late. And he wouldn't let me turn myself in to the Watch, even though I deserve to be put on trial and punished for murder."

"What do you know of all of this?" Daeghun asked Lucas.

"Nothing," said Lucas with a casual shrug. "Like I told the men, it was a simple case of mistaken identity."

"Were that true, you would not have tried to pass this off with a lie about brigands. This sounds more like you have a bounty on your head. We have, in the past, allowed you your secrets, but if people from your past are threatening the safety of anybody in our group, then it is time for you to come clean. We need to know who we are dealing with. We need to know what to expect."

"Secrets? It is my life, and my business. I have no secrets, and it is no crime that I do not wish to talk about my past. If you want me to 'come clean', then surely we can expect everybody to do the same? Perhaps Belvar will finally tell us the full extent of the troubles he has had with his kin? Maybe Duncan will go into great detail about his life as a blade-for-hire before he joined our group? Might Kiree also tell us of her time with the Shadow Thieves, and tell us the secrets of her former criminal life? Are you going to pressure Esmerelle into regaling us with tales of why she lived alone for so long, and what she is so afraid of? No? I didn't think so. You can't have one rule for one and another rule for others, Daeghun. Either everybody goes into intimate detail about their past, or nobody does. Maybe you should just let me worry about my own affairs, and keep your mind on your own."

His voice raised in tone and pitch as he spoke, and Esme was shocked. She had never seen him allow his anger to get the better of him. Always, before, he was so calm, so carefully controlled, like an actor playing a part on a stage. Life was a performance for him, and he performed well. The outburst was so loud that all other conversations in the tavern ceased, and Esme became increasingly aware of the stares being directed at her group of friends.

The tense silence was broken by Lucas removing himself from the building. As he stalked away, with no visible sign of his limp and his cloak billowing out behind him, the rest of the patrons slowly turned back to their own conversations once more, though many of them stole furtive glances at Esmerelle's group. Obviously they expected further entertainment which they could gossip about later.

"That was... rather uncharacteristic of Lucas," said Shayla quietly.

"He's finally cracked," Duncan said darkly. "Gone completely insane."

"I know something of what Esmerelle spoke," Belvar said, his voice a soft rumble, pitched for the ears of his friends alone. It was the first time he had spoken, and he immediately had everybody's attention. "King Alemander was the ruler of Tethyr, and his family had been ruling for so long that none remember their original name. They all simply called themselves 'Alemander', and Kingship passed from father to son down the ages. The last ruler was particularly harsh; he persecuted the elves of the forests of Tethir and made life misery for farmers and poor-folk alike. He even began to ostracize the rest of the nobility. His son, yet another tyrant in the making, decided to overthrow him, but his plan went wrong, and he too was killed along with his father. Castle Tethyr was razed to the ground and every member of Alemander's family - or those who claimed to have blood ties to him - was executed by mobs of angry commoners. It was called The Ten Black Days of Eleint, and saw almost every noble in Tethyr murdered, along with many of their servants and guards."

"You believe Lucas is a member of Alemander's family?" Daeghun asked.

"It's as good an answer as any," Belvar said with a shrug.

"Those men who attacked us," said Esme, "they called him 'Arnan'. What does that mean?"

"It means nothing to me, but I'm not overly familiar with the history of that region at that time. There were very few noble survivors, and the Ten Black Days are not something the people of Tethyr speak of openly. Those were dark days indeed."

"If it is true," said Shayla, "then I have sympathy for Lucas."

"Sympathy?" Duncan raised a quizzical eyebrow. "His secrets and lies have endangered Esme, and possibly all of us. What would we have done if they'd come upon us during a moment of weakness? For example, when we were separated on the riverbank last summer?"

"His secrets and lies may have been borne of necessity," Shayla replied. "Spending your life on the run, being hunted like an animal simply for the virtue of being born to the wrong parents, is no way to live. Maybe Lucas thought that the best way to keep us safe was to keep us out of his past."

"He should not be alone right now," said Daeghun. "There may be other hunters waiting for him... or he may decide that he would be better off on his own, with nobody to question him."

"Then maybe we should let him go," said Duncan. "It's not like we can force him to stay, and if he wants to be secretive, maybe he would be better off alone."

"I'll go and find him, and fetch him back," said Esmerelle, standing from her chair and leaving via the front door.

"She should not be alone, either," Daeghun said.

"I'll stay with her," said Kiree, and she slipped out of the room after Esme.

o - o - o - o - o

Duncan watched the diminutive woman leave the inn after Esmerelle, and shook his head. Why was everybody so eager for Lucas to stay? The old man wasn't getting any younger; each year, the winters became more difficult for him, and although he never slowed the group down, he never volunteered to be in the thick of the fighting, either.

No, in the shadows was where Lucas was happiest, watching everything around him, sniping at things with his small throwing knives and his barbed insults. He never put himself in harm's way when he didn't have to. He fought dirty and cheated at card games, and nobody else seemed to mind. They respected the old man because he was 'learned', they indulged him in his fanciful tales and didn't care that when danger loomed he was rarely to be found putting his life on the line.

"You're angry," said Shayla quietly by his side.

He turned to find the elf watching him, her blue eyes intense and penetrating. Daeghun and Belvar, meanwhile, had returned to their usual table and were engaged in a discussion he couldn't catch. He said nothing to Shayla; there didn't seem to be anything to say, but she took his silence as confirmation.

"You have been angry for a very long time. You have made your anger a constant companion, and you seek it out when you feel alone."

"I don't need a counsellor, Shayla," he said, trying to take some of the gruffness from his voice. He both liked and respected Shayla. Once, he had considered her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and when he had first joined Daeghun's group, he had found himself tongue-tied around his brother's breath-taking wife more than once. Now, he appreciated her friendship and her intelligence, and though he still thought of her as the most beautiful woman on Faerûn, he no longer felt overwhelmed by her presence.

"I am shaman," she replied simply, and he sighed. Such a simple statement, and yet it meant so much. Shayla was shaman. In her tribe, she would have been a healer. She would have been the link between her people and the land, between her people and the spirit-world. She would have helped them to know themselves, to overcome their fears and misgivings, to grow to become all they could be. But she was not with her tribe, now, and she considered her friends to be her people. She would not leave him alone until she felt she had helped him, and he knew this was a conversation long overdue.

He gestured to a table in the corner, away from Belvar and Daeghun, and she inclined her head and joined him. One of the barmaids brought them each a glass of their preferred drink; Amnian ale for him, and a fine elven wine for her.

"I noticed your anger as soon as you found us," Shayla said, her blue eyes boring into his. "But it was not so great then as it is now. It did not control you. It only became more prevalent after the vision-quest."

"Aw, that was years ago, Shayla. Why bring it up now?"

"Because I had hoped that you would resolve things on your own before now, but it is clear to me that this won't happen. You told me that you did not want to talk about what happened during that quest, and I have respected that. But if I am to help you, I must know. May I hazard a guess?" She waited for him to nod. "After the vision quest, your anger towards Daeghun grew. I would surmise that it involved him, in some way."

He took a long drink of his ale, to cover his discomfort. Shayla's guess had been disturbingly accurate, and he wanted to consider his response before speaking.

"I saw my mother," he admitted at last. "She told me things I didn't want to hear. Daeghun was her favourite and always would be. I would always pale in comparison. I would never be important, never make something of my life. I'd be destined for mediocrity. And so forth."

"Oh Duncan, I'm sorry," she said, genuine compassion filling her blue eyes. "If I'd known at the time about your poor relationship with your mother, I would never have allowed you to undergo the quest. Vision quests show us our deepest fears; they use our own minds to show us and tell us things, to manifest images that challenge or teach us. You were not ready, mentally, for the things that you saw. Your anger is my fault, not yours."

"No, Shayla. You weren't to know. But I'm past that now. Whilst we were separated on the riverbank earlier this year, Daeghun and I... talked. Things have been better between us, since. He is not so dismissive of me, and I understand him a little better. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we're going to be best friends or anything, but there's a bit of trust between us now, and we've been getting along alright, for the most part."

"So you have resolved your feelings towards Daeghun, but found new anger to replace it?" she asked, taking a dainty sip of her wine.

"Guess I'm just too predictable," he said, and gave her a wry smile.

"What was the reason for your anger towards Lucas?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I feel like he doesn't take me seriously. I mean, I get on well enough with everyone else. You and Kiree are like sisters to me, Daeghun's starting to warm towards me a little, and Belvar seems content to ignore me for the most part. But Lucas is always making snide comments, calling me stupid, or implying I'm childish or uneducated. I don't want him to appreciate me, just respect me a little."

"I do not think it is easy for Lucas, seeing you growing stronger and more self-reliant every year, whilst he grows older. He makes light of his age catching up with him, but I hear the unspoken fears in his voice. Right now, he has hit wits and his health, but many humans begin to lose theirs as they march towards old age."

"You think he resents me because of my youth?"

"I think he fears being left behind. I believe he worries that his reflexes will slow and his body will eventually fail him, and we will continue without him, leaving him somewhere quiet to live out the remainder of his years in obscurity. He can't talk about this with Daeghun or Belvar; as non-humans, they are destined to live longer and age more slowly. So he takes it out on you instead."

"But I'm not entirely human. And what about Esmerelle? She's human, but he shows her every courtesy."

"You're more human than not, both physically and mentally. And Esmerelle is a woman, though in some ways she is little more than a child. Besides, it is a woman's nature to care; Lucas knows that Esmerelle will treat his arthritis without complaint, and she would never consider leaving him behind somewhere, to carry on adventuring without him. He sees no threat in her."

"Has Lucas told you about any of this, or is it all guesswork on your behalf?"

"I am shaman." And with that, Shayla returned to Daeghun and Belvar, and left Duncan alone with his thoughts.

o - o - o - o - o

It was early evening when Lucas returned. He slipped into the inn so quietly that Duncan barely noticed him. It was only when the old bard made his way towards the foot of the staircase that he realised Lucas was back.

"So, no more encounters with 'bandits' today?" Duncan called out. Lucas stopped at the stairs and turned, subjecting him to a level gaze. Belvar, Shayla and Daeghun turned around in their seats.

"I'm glad the girls found you," Shayla said with a smile. "We were worried about you."

"Girls?" Lucas asked.

"Esmerelle and Kiree went looking for you."

"Haven't seen them since I left here."

"But they left hours ago, just after you!"

"Probably got distracted by the sale at Keppee's Clothing. There were hordes of women fighting for dresses and shoes... that gnome may be responsible for the biggest riot Neverwinter's ever seen."

Before anybody could reply, Lucas whirled around and retreated up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Hnh. They do like shopping," Belvar said.

"Maybe I should go and look for them," Duncan suggested. The thought of Esmerelle and Kiree being alone, so soon after the attempt on Lucas' life, made him feel uneasy.

"Let them have some time to themselves," Shayla said. "They haven't talked that much since we arrived here, they've both been busy with their own affairs. I think it will do them good to spend some time getting to know each other again. And are you _really_ so eager to become their pack mule on another shopping spree?"

Duncan shook his head as the elves and the dwarf returned to their drinks. Deep down, he knew that Shayla was right. He should give the girls some time to catch up and have womanly chats. But the feeling of unease made his back itch between his shoulder blades. It was the sort of feeling he sometimes got before a storm; a sense of tension, or pressure, pushing down on him from above. He began to pace the floor.

What remained of the sun sank below the horizon, and a minstrel appeared to play for the tavern patrons. The moon rose, dinner time arrived, and Shayla, Daeghun and Belvar ordered food for themselves. Duncan did not eat; he kept up his pacing, counting the steps between one wall of the tavern and the other. It was exactly forty of his long strides, and when he was sure of the length, he began paying closer attention to the floor boards, trying to make the crossing without once stepping on a wooden join. From the back of his mind, a tune arose, and he began humming it, and for a while, that occupied his mind. After three or four crossings, he remembered there were words to go with the tune; words that he could remember being sung in high, feminine voices.

_Step on a crack, you'll break your back, and a bugbear will come to your wedding._

It was some old superstitious nonsense rhyme sung by the young girls in his home village, and he wasn't entirely sure what it meant. They had sung it as they ran up the main street of the village, hopping from cobbled stone to cobbled stone, trying desperately not to step on any of the cracks between them. Doing so was bad luck, apparently, but he didn't believe in luck any more than he believed in truly benevolent gods.

"Duncan? What are you doing?" Shayla's voice was puzzled, and he looked up from his inspection of the floor to find his friends watching him with curiosity on their faces.

"It doesn't matter," he said, slightly embarrassed to be caught humming rhymes and studying the floor. He needed a change of subject. "Esmerelle and Kiree should be back by now. This isn't like them. They'd never miss dinner."

"They may have decided to eat out during their shopping trip," Daeghun said calmly.

"We don't even know that they _have_ gone shopping. We just presumed they had because Lucas mentioned a sale. But Esmerelle seemed pretty determined to find Lucas when she left, and I don't think she would have let herself be distracted even by a sale. They're probably still out there looking for him. They don't know he's back here, so they might even stay out all night, and there are parts of Neverwinter best avoided after sunset."

"Hmm, he might be right," said Belvar. "You know how much Kiree loves her food, and Esme isn't so shallow that she'd be distracted when her mind's set to some task."

"I will send Ashara to look for them," said Shayla. The ethereal blue squirrel appeared briefly on the table, then scampered up the chimney and out of sight.

"Do you think we should tell Lucas?" Duncan asked.

"Tell me what?" The old man had appeared on the stairs, his cloak wrapped around himself like a protective shell.

"Kiree and Esmerelle have not yet returned," Daeghun said "Duncan is concerned for their safety."

Lucas nodded. "The city is no place for two young women at night. It's my fault they went out there, so I'll go and bring them back."

Daeghun moved fluidly from his seat at the table to the door in front of Lucas. "I do not believe that is a wise idea. If whoever attacked you had accomplices, they may have followed you back here and taken Kiree and Esmerelle as hostages to be used against you."

"Pah!" Lucas scoffed dismissively. "Those men who attacked me said they were the last of those who had been sent. And besides, I'm hardly a defenceless old man. I survived on my wits and my skills since before you even left that forest of yours."

"Still, I do not want anybody going out there alone. Not tonight."

"It's alright, Daeghun," Duncan found himself saying, "I'll go with him."

He saw the surprise on his brother's face only by his absence of expression. Very little caught Daeghun off guard, but Duncan's offer had.

"Very well." Daeghun stepped aside, and Lucas stepped out of the tavern. Duncan began to follow, but was stopped by Daeghun's hand on his arm. "You two cover the Blacklake District and the city centre. Belvar and I will search the docks and the beggar's nest, in case Esmerelle has taken pity on the sickly inhabitants there and decided to spend some time healing. Shayla, you will remain here in case the women return, and send Ashara to find us if they do. If neither of us finds them, we will convene back here at high moon to discuss our next steps."

"Fine," he replied. "I'd better go and catch up to Lucas before I lose him."

When Daeghun released his arm, he hurried out of the inn and caught sight of the old man limping down the main street. He quickly caught up to Lucas, and strolled beside him.

"We're to search Blacklake and the city centre," he said, watching the old man's face for any reaction. "So. Seems we've been given the safest areas to search. Guess Daeghun has as much faith in you as he does in me. Welcome to not being trusted." When his words received no response, he continued. "These friends of yours who wanted to remove from you that slight irritation called 'life'... do you think they'd hurt Esme and Kiree to get to you?"

"As I said before, those men were the last. I know your mind is particularly slow, but do try to keep up."

"That's rich. _Me_ struggle to keep up? I'm not the one who can barely cope with a couple of armed thugs. I'm not the one who needs a girl as a bodyguard to keep me safe. I'm not the one who has to stand in the shadows sniping at people because my strength is failing. Maybe you should look in a mirror before you start throwing insults around. You might find they reflect back on you."

"There's more to fighting than strength; some of us actually have _skill_. You wade into combat like a child given his first toy sword, and sooner or later your don't-care attitude will get you hurt or killed. And then yes, you will be needing a girl to heal your wounds and take care of you while you recover. Maybe with a little experience, you'll come to realise that, though I'm not getting my hopes up."

Lucas stopped outside a shop, and Duncan looked up at the sign above the door. _Keppee's Quality Clothing_, it read, in the worst example of alliteration he had ever seen. Warm yellow light spilled out from the large windows, and the old man took a deep breath before ascending the two steps and pushing open the door. A cacophony of noise spilled out into the street, and Duncan winced at the volume of it. Following Lucas into the store, he found the place packed with women. There were humans, elves, gnomes and even an occasional dwarf, or at least what he _hoped_ were dwarven women, all frantically searching through racks of dresses, skirts, blouses and shawls. Random shoes lay strewn across the floor, and several piles of belts lay coiled in the corners like a tangle of snakes. Every woman who found something to her liking emitted a shrill shriek of happiness, and several battle-worn servants could be seen buried beneath piles of their mistresses' purchases.

Duncan followed Lucas through the shopping frenzy to the counter at the rear of the building, where a very tired but happy looking gnome was busy folding clothes and packing them in to bags for a growing line of customers. The sale, it seemed, was still going strong, and likely would until Keppee ran out of clothes to sell... or until his customers ran out of money. The former seemed far more likely.

"Keppee!" Lucas called, though it took two or three attempts to get the gnome's attention.

"Lucas!" the little man said with a wide grin. "Long time no see! Are you looking for something for a lady-friend? Don't procrastinate or you'll walk away empty handed!"

"Actually, I'm looking for two friends of mine. One is a halfling, blonde hair, dresses in dark colours. The other is a human, shorter than me with long dark wavy hair and beautiful eyes."

"Ahh, the thief and the potion-lady! Yes, they're frequent customers. I must say, that enhancement potion I bought last week was very effective."

"Erm... enhancement potion?" Duncan asked, already regretting opening his mouth.

"Oh, yes. Strength enhancement. I was completely rearranging my shop, had to move a few dozen mannequins to and fro, you know? Much faster to do it myself than hire a couple of humans. No offence, friends."

"Have you seen my friends recently?" Lucas asked.

"Not since last week, no. Surprised they haven't stopped by... I have a sale on, you know! If you see them, do ask them to visit before the sale ends."

"Thanks, Keppee."

Lucas retreated, dodging women and servants, and Duncan followed him out of the store. Stepping into the cool, quiet night air was almost a mercy, and Duncan took a deep breath, fervently hoping that he'd _never_ have to experience another shopping sale again.

"So, where to now?" he asked, when Lucas offered no conversation.

"Perhaps Aldanon's house," said Lucas. "Esme has been there a couple of times to pester the old man for scrolls. Maybe she went back."

"Seems like a shot in the dark, to me."

"If you have any better ideas, please speak up. It's been a while since I had a good laugh."

"Psst!"

On the verge of making a witty-comeback, Duncan closed his mouth and looked around for the maker of the furtive sound. A young boy peered around the corner of the shop, glanced quickly around, and then said "psst!" again.

"We heard you the first time," Lucas said. "Why are you trying to gain our attention, young man?"

The boy glanced around again, then beckoned for the men to follow him. Duncan caught the old man's eyes, and they both nodded, then stepped towards the youngster who slipped back around the corner. As they reached his location, Duncan put his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. One of the oldest cons in the book was to send a helpful looking lad to take you to a quiet location, only to be set upon and robbed by thieves. But when they caught up with the boy, they found him alone, crouching in the shadows in the alley.

"Yer lookin' fer yer friends, aint'cha?" he asked.

"That's right," said Lucas. "How did you know?"

"Heard ya talkin' t' Keppee."

"What's your name, my young friend?" asked Lucas, bending down on one knee to speak to the boy at his own height.

"Regor," he said, sticking his hand out. Lucas took it, shook it, and then indicated Duncan.

"I am Lucas, bard extraordinaire, and this is Duncan... he carries heavy things around and occasionally uses his head as a weapon." Duncan glared at the old man, but shook Regor's hand regardless. Clearly Lucas was up to something... and he was going to play along to find out what. "Tell me, Regor, do you know what happened to my friends?"

Regor nodded emphatically. "The Thieves took 'em."

"Why would thieves harm our friends?" Duncan asked. "Kiree is one of them, and they hardly ever hurt their own."

"Not knowin' how to use yer pointy ears, are ya?" Regor replied. "I didn't say thieves took 'em. I said _the Thieves_ took 'em."

"Shadow Thieves!" said Lucas. "And you were worried about _me_ being the one with a price on my head. Do you know what the Thieves _do_ to betrayers?"

"I kin help ya get yer friends back," said Regor.

"And just what would this 'help' cost us?" Duncan asked him.

The boy scowled at him angrily. "Won't cost ya nought. Yer lady lass helped me out when I fell off the docks and broke me arm. My pap woulda been furious with me, woulda cost him five golders ta get it fixed at a temple, but the Lady did it for nought and even promised not ta tell me pap. Figure I owes her fer that."

"Alright, Regor, tell us everything you know and we'll have a think about how you might be able to help us."

"Well," Regor said, giving them a toothy grin, "it's like this, right? Me and my friend Ceri were spending the evening in and out of the Laughing Lass-"

"Aren't you a little young for that sort of thing?" Duncan asked skeptically.

"The Laughing Lass is a _tavern_, Duncan," sighed Lucas.

"Again..."

"I'm eight!" said Regor. "And Ceri's pap owns the Lass. Do ya want ta hear what happened or not?" He waited for Duncan to apologise before continuing. "Anyway, we were in and out of the Lass a lot, playing catch. That's when I heard Caleb bragging about how he'd captured a thief with a bounty on her head, and one of her friends ta boot. The pretty girl who made those wonderful size enhancing potions, he said. What does 'enhancing' mean anyway?"

"To enhance something means to make it better," Lucas explained, though Duncan could tell his mind was no longer in the present.

"Coo! I likes to enhance me vorcaburelary," Regor grinned.

"Who is Caleb?" Duncan asked.

Regor pulled his face. "Thief. Not one of the Thieves yet, but he _really_ wants ta join them. I reckon he thinks catching yer friends will get them ta accept him. I'm not so sure though. He's got a wicked bad smell about him. Ceri thinks he keeps a dead skunk in his shirt. I think a rat crawled into his mouth and down into his stomach and died there."

"Caleb's interesting body odours aside... did he mention where he'd taken Kiree and Esmerelle?" Lucas asked.

"Nah. All he talked about was the gold he got from deliverin' them. Said he was gonna drown himself in wine and whores for the next week. Pers'nally I think there'll be more wine than whores. I reckon ya gotta pay a lady an awful lot to overlook a dead skunk or rat."

"Could you take us to Caleb?"

"Sure," Regor said with a shrug. "Prolly still in the Lass. Ya wanna go now?"

"Shouldn't we wait for Daeghun and Belvar?" Duncan asked.

"You need your brother's permission before making a decision, now?" Lucas asked, one of his bushy white eyebrows rising. "Besides, what are Daeghun and Belvar going to do? Daeghun's elf through and through, he doesn't understand humans. And even though Belvar's more diplomatic than most dwarves are ever capable of being, I get the feeling that this situation requires a more delicate touch."

"Your touch, you mean."

"Maybe," said Lucas, standing. "I won't know how this can play out until we get to the Lass and see Caleb for ourselves. We'll have to play this by ear, so if you want to come along, perhaps you can be useful. Of course, if you _want_ to go back to Daeghun, to explain how we found the man responsible for taking our friends, and then wait for Daeghun to offer a solution..."

"Fine, I'll go with you," Duncan scowled, not liking how easy Lucas could manipulate him, but feeling powerless to do anything but obey the old man.

"This way, then!" said Regor, trotting out of the alley. With no other choice, they followed him.

o - o - o - o - o

Regor led them out of the city centre and down to the rough Docklands. This was not an area that Duncan was comfortable being in at night. Granted, he had seen worse - several years ago, their group had wintered one time in Luskan, and then promised themselves never again. Though Neverwinter's docks lacked Luskan's rough and deadly edges, it was still a dangerous place to be. For too long the area had been under the rule of the Bloodsailors, a pirate gang who owed their allegiance to no true rulers of Neverwinter. The Bloodsailors were smugglers, and when they reached shore they did business with the _other_ types of men who frequented the Docks district. Men who hid in shadows, who made things - and sometimes people - disappear in exchange for coin. It was no wonder, then, that the Shadow Thieves, who operated mainly out of Amn, were trying to gain a foothold in this place. But they had a lot of work ahead of them if they planned to supplant or replace the local thieves; this was their territory, and they had, over many years, set up a vast network of contacts, of fences and shop keepers and arms dealers. And as a bonus, the Bloodsailors still did business exclusively with the locals. Everybody knew that a Shadow Thief's word was only as good as the contract you signed with him.

The tavern that Regor led them to was not actually on the dockside itself, rather, it was set a few dozen paces back. It was a low, sprawling building with a red roof, red rafters, and a colourful sign above the door depicting a red-cheeked girl in mid-laugh. It looked altogether a jolly place to be, quite out of place amongst the dark and grim buildings which lined the dock-side.

Regor stopped them both at the door. "Lemme go and see if Caleb's still around. Ceri's been keeping an eye on 'im for me." Then he dashed off around the back of the building before they could reply.

"You trust the boy?" Duncan asked Lucas.

The old man shrugged. "I see no reason for him to lie to us. I'm also a very good judge of character."

"Of course you are," Duncan snorted. But he was stopped from commenting further by the return of Regor.

"Ceri says Caleb's still inside," the boy confirmed. "He's sat in the corner, brown hair, blue eyes, big mouth and huge stink. Can't really miss him. I best wait here for ya though, Ceri's dad threatened to gut us both if he caught us playing in the Lass again t'night."

"Thank you, Regor," said Lucas, before turning to Duncan. "I'd like to observe this Caleb for a short time, to see what he is like and plan our next move. Go into the Lass and order a drink at the bar. Distract the barkeep, and I will enter after a count of fifty and take a seat as close to Caleb as I can manage without arousing suspicion."

"I left our tavern without any coin," Duncan said pointedly.

Lucas sighed, and delved into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a handful of silvers. "Don't get carried away. We both need a clear head if we are to see our friends alive again."

"I know what's at stake," he scowled. "I'm hardly going to get drunk when Esme and Kiree are relying on me."

He left Lucas with Regor and marched towards the door of the Lass, remembering at the last minute to smooth the scowl from his face. The inside of the tavern was warm and surprisingly bright, and almost every table was filled. Bloodsailors, dock-workers, fishermen and locals mingled with each other openly, and for the most part without any bloodshed. Everybody, it seemed, gave the Bloodsailors a respectfully wide berth, and Duncan decided to follow their example. Spying an empty stool at the bar, he took it and began counting out some of the silvers. The barkeep appeared before him as if by magic, and enquired about his drinking preference.

"Just ale for the moment," said Duncan, watching as the man poured from the cask.

"There you go. Two silvers," said the barkeeper, placing a full glass of ale on the counter. For a wonder, the glass actually looked clean, and Duncan paid the man happily. "I haven't seen you around here before," the barkeep said, treating him to a wary look.

"Aye, likely not," Duncan agreed. "I'm passing through Neverwinter on one of my many adventures, and thought I'd sample what the Docks has to offer in terms of alcohol and entertainment. Business seems to be doing well, here," he said, gesturing at the full room.

"I suppose it is," the man replied with a sigh.

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"The Lass is a good tavern," the innkeeper replied, "but I'm selling her to move elsewhere. Things are just getting too tense around here for my liking. And I'd like to not have to worry about the line of work my son might be forced into once he's grown up."

"Ha!" said a drunken man further down the bar. "You've been selling the Lass fer three years now. Nobody's loony enough to buy it off you!"

"You just keep to your own business, Shaw, and let me worry about the Lass," the innkeeper scowled. He turned back to Duncan. "Anyway, I was hoping to move to Waterdeep, to one of the quieter parts of the city, more of a genteel clientele."

"What sort of price are you asking for the Lass?"

"Why, you interested in buying?"

"Ha, doubtful!" Duncan scoffed. "The world's far too big to confine myself to a tavern. I just don't see the appeal in a settled life."

A cold breeze blew across the back of Duncan's neck, and glancing around he saw the door open and Lucas enter. The old man gave absolutely no sign of recognising him as he looked around for an empty table to sit at. He at last found one, and settled into the chair, waiting for one of the barmaids to take his order. In the corner of the room, Duncan saw the man that Regor had described; brown hair, blue eyes, and laughing heartily at something somebody said to him. With a twinge of fear in his heart for his friends, he turned back to the bar, to distract the innkeeper so that Lucas could listen.

o - o - o - o - o

When the barmaid brought Lucas his glass of mulled wine, he smiled, thanked her, and with a wink he gave her an extra silver coin as a tip. She grinned at him and curtsied, before disappearing back into the crowd. It never hurt to be liberal with coin, especially if it bought you the favour or friendship of somebody well-placed to provide you with information or a quick exit. Over the years, he had become very, very good at making friends - as a keen observer of people of all races, he had learnt how to quickly discern the intentions and character of a man or woman, and approach them in a way that was friendly and non-threatening. All you had to do to make friends was make it very easy for people to like you, and it was something he had practised so that it was now second nature to him.

For several minutes he allowed his hearing to adapt to the sounds of the tavern, so different to the quiet noises of the docks outside. Slowly, as he concentrated, individual voices became discernible to him. The voices were mostly male, and mostly local. The voices of women belonged invariably to the barmaids, and they were no louder than they had to be to be heard above the din. There was no minstrel in this tavern; it was not a place for relaxation and merriment, but of business. Men came here not to unwind after a hard day's work, but to renew their contacts and sniff out new opportunities.

He had briefly glimpsed Caleb, under the guise of looking for a table, but now his back was to the man. Holding his glass up to the light, he examined it, turning his head from side to side as if inspecting the cleanliness of it. Each time he turned his head, he picked up snippets of conversation, most of it completely irrelevant to his purpose there. But, finally, he caught what he had been listening for.

"...easiest coin I ever made..." said a voice. It was heavily tinged with a local accent, and it was accompanied by the melodic jingle of a full purse. It was followed by a chorus of impressed murmurs, but Lucas could tell that they were false.

"Wouldn't be surprised if they asked me to do other jobs for 'em," the voice continued. Caleb was, Lucas decided, a braggart and a fool, even moreso than Duncan. Shadow Thieves were not exactly welcomed by the local thief populace; too much conflict of interest. For Caleb to be openly talking about joining them was the height of idiocy, probably fuelled by alcohol and his own ego.

"Just remember where your allegiances lie," another man said darkly.

"Oh, of course," Caleb placated him. "I'm a true Neverwinter man through and through. Never catch me rubbing shoulders with those filthy Amnians. But I figure there's no harm in doing the odd job for 'em, as long as it doesn't affect us, right? Barkeep, a round of drinks for everybody in the Lass!" There was a round of loud cheer, and one of the barmaids sighed and rolled her eyes. Caleb _definitely_ wasn't making any friends there.

"Somebody's in a good mood," Lucas heard from the direction of the bar, and he groaned inwardly. Duncan could be such a fool sometimes.

"Hrmph. Caleb's just celebrating a run of good luck," the barman replied.

_Stop it, Duncan, you fool,_ thought Lucas. _You're supposed to be taking his focus __**away**__ from Caleb, not trying to pry information from him. Don't try to be cleverer than you are._

"The way I see it," said Caleb behind him, "we do their odd jobs, look compliant, they give us their money and then we use it against them."

"I thought you were spending your money on ale and wenches," another man pointed out.

"Well, yes, but the rest of it will be put to good use," Caleb replied. "Speaking of wenches, though, it's a real shame I had to hand in the human lass, as well as her thief friend. She looked like the warm type, I wouldn't have minded a turn in the sack with her first."

Lucas could almost _feel_ Duncan's anger at Caleb's words from across the room. At the bar, Duncan was scowling, his fists clenched. It would be just like that idiot to say something now and ruin their chances. He had to act fast, to stop Duncan from doing something stupid.

He stood up and pushed his drink away from the edge of the table, then, limping, made his way to the bar. When he reached it he approached Duncan, studying him carefully. "Duncan!" he said, slurring his speech a little. "Is that you?"

"Err... yeah?" Duncan replied, the scowl on his face quickly replaced by a look of genuine confusion. Lucas only hoped he was smart enough to play along.

"By the Gods, the last I saw of you, you were buying your first sword and running off to Baldur's Gate to seek your fortune! Don't you remember me? Cain Hartal? Your father and I did a lot of business back when you were a youngster. 'Course, I had a lot less grey in my hair then!"

"Oh, ah, yes, I thought you looked familiar. How have you been, Master Hartal?" said Duncan.

"Well enough, for an old man. Are you staying with your sister, Lizzie, whilst you're back in Neverwinter?"

"That's right," Duncan replied, and Lucas gave a silent prayer of thanks to any god listening that Duncan was at least bright enough to take his cues.

"Ahh, little Lizzie. I remember her fondly. Many a time your father would invite me over for dinner and I'd bounce the pair of you on my knee. She'd always squeal, afraid that I'd drop her. It's been many a year since I've seen your sister. Is she still living in your father's house?"

"Err, yeah. Been there ever since Father passed away. She... uh... didn't have the heart to sell it."

"Do you think she'd mind a visit from me? I know it's late but seeing you has brought back so many memories... I'd like to reminisce with you both about old times."

"I... um... I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Anything for an old friend, eh?"

"Excellent! Let's not keep Lizzie waiting then!"

"Thanks for the drink, barkeep," said Duncan, handing back his empty glass. "And good luck selling the Lass."

"I'll need Tymora's luck to sell this place," the man grumbled. "But have yourself a nice evening. Come back whenever you like."

Lucas held on to Duncan's arm, pretending to need the younger man's steadying influence, and led the way out of the tavern. As soon as they stepped outside, he let go of Duncan's arm and began marching toward the city centre.

"What was all that about?" Duncan asked, keeping pace with him.

For once, Lucas bit his tongue. There was no sense in berating Duncan for his actions, stupid as they were. He needed the man's compliance, not his anger. "I've heard all I needed to from Caleb," he said instead. "I have a plan."

"We're going back to get the others?"

"No. We're going to see Lizzie."

o - o - o - o - o

Keeping up with Lucas was hard, and Duncan found himself panting heavily by the time they stopped at the door of a small house in the city centre, not far from the Neverwinter Academy. The old man had refused to answer any more questions as they walked, stating only that his plan would be made known in due time. And so Duncan had had no choice but to follow him, and hope that whatever Lucas was planning wasn't as crazy and suicidal as his other plans tended to be.

Lucas reached up and used the door knocker to rap three times on the wooden door. For a few moments nothing happened, and then a light appeared in one of the windows, followed shortly after by the sound of the door latches being unlocked. When the door opened, it swung inwards to reveal a young woman with long red hair standing in the doorway, a lit candle in a holder in one hand, and wearing only a plain white nightdress that came down to her knees. Her slender arms and legs were pale, and she shivered as the chill breeze blew across her skin. Squinting in the darkness, it seemed to take a moment for her to fully wake.

"Lucas?" she asked. "Gods, man, do you know what time it is?"

"I do, and I'm sorry for waking you, Lizzie, but I need your help quite urgently."

"Then by all means, come in," she replied, stepping aside "We missed you at the performance today, you know."

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it, but something came up. This is my friend Duncan."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady," Duncan said, offering her a low bow.

"And you," she replied, closing the door behind him. They were, Duncan realised, in the entry-way to a living room; a small fire crackled in the hearth, banked for the night, and cast a soft orange glow over two comfortable looking sofas. "What brings you here at such a late hour?" Lizzie asked, covering a yawn with her hand. "Business, or pleasure?"

"Business, I'm afraid," Lucas replied grimly. Duncan shook his head. This woman wasn't even _half_ the old man's age. "Two of our friends have been taken by the Shadow Thieves. There is a man who can tell us where they are hidden, but he will need some... persuasion. In order to persuade him to tell us where he took our friends, we need to get him alone."

"And my role in all of this?"

"A lady of negotiable affection."

"I'll go and get changed," she sighed, turning to disappear up the staircase and taking the candle with her.

Duncan watched as Lucas made his way to the fire and lifted a poker from a brass stand, then coaxed the flames back to life. "Don't you think she's a little young for you?" he asked the bard.

Lucas scoffed. "Lizzie is an actress, and the daughter of an old friend of mine. She's kind enough to humour me with an occasional game of checkers. Now please drag your mind out of the gutter, if at all possible."

"Are you going to tell me your plan, now?"

"Soon."

"Why do you always have to be so damned evasive?" Duncan said angrily. "Can't you ever just give a straight answer for once?"

"I find straight answers far too dull."

"You know," he said, deciding to change his tack, "Belvar and the others think that you're a member of the Tethyrian royal family."

"They can think what they want."

"I have to wonder... does the truth even exist, in your mind? Do you lie to yourself as often as you lie to others? If you saw the truth, would you even recognise it?"

"The truth?" Lucas snorted with amusement, though he didn't remove his gaze from the fire. "The truth is far less grand than you might like to think. My mother was a servant in Castle Tethyr, and she wasn't particularly bright. 'Give the Lord whatever he wants' she'd been told by the head servant. 'Never refuse a Lord's request'. 'It is your duty to serve'. And though she wasn't all too bright, she was quite beautiful, so one evening, when the King at the time decided that a beautiful young serving girl would be a far more enjoyable roll in bed than his haughty, aging wife, my mother did as she had been instructed. She didn't refuse him or even object, not that time or any of the times after.

"When she realised she was pregnant, she ran away. She'd heard tales about what happened to royal bastards... drowned at birth, most of them, if they were even allowed to make it that far. She went home, back to her mother, and gave birth to me. 'Arnan Lucas Alemander' she called me, after her father, her grandfather, and my father. Needless to say, I dropped my father's name as soon as I was old enough to realise what he had done to my mother, and when the war of succession started to heat up, I simply became 'Lucas' and decided it would be prudent to travel far, far away. I made the mistake of returning home once, when I heard that my mother was on her death bed. I was a young man in my twenties, and very foolish. I truly had no idea how much I resembled my father, but it was enough for some of the rebels to identify me as part of the noble family. I've been keeping one step ahead of them ever since, mostly by living a small, uninteresting life and having absolutely no aspirations of claiming the throne of Tethyr for myself."

Duncan was stunned. Lucas? Telling the truth? Being _honest_? Was his story true, or was it simply something that he made up, a tale to tell to anybody who became too curious about his background? He had no reason to disbelieve the bard... but no particular reason to believe him, either.

"And now that you know the truth," Lucas continued, "I'm sure you'll be telling Daeghun, and the others, and anybody else you happen to get drunk with. But do try to show a little discretion, if you please. My life rather depends on my anonymity."

"I won't be telling Daeghun, or the others," Duncan said, stepping into the firelight and lowering his voice. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume that everything you told me is true. I don't know why you told me, only that you did. But like you said, if Daeghun feels it's important, he'll ask you about it himself. And if you felt Daeghun needed to know, you would have told him about it long before now. For the moment, I don't care about any of it. What's done is done, and we need to concentrate on getting Kiree and Esme back. If you want my help, then you need to tell me your plan. Otherwise... I'll let Daeghun know everything we've learnt, and let him deal with it."

"You do that, and Kiree and Esme will die," Lucas said darkly. "This isn't something Daeghun, Belvar and Shayla can handle. They'd be out of their depths, and a frontal attack will only force the Thieves into action. What's needed here is a softer touch. We're going to employ the ages old tactic of deception. And for that, you're going to have to learn some acting skills." Lucas gave him a frightening smile. "Fortunately, I'm a good teacher."

o - o - o - o - o

Waves of nausea washed over Esmerelle as her eyelids flickered open. Her head was pounding, her body ached all over, and she was chilled to the bone. With a groan, she rolled onto her stomach and gently pushed herself up into a sitting position. The darkness of the room was diminished only by the light of a single candle, sat in a sconce beside a door. Between Esme and the door were a set of cold metal bars, and there were no windows at all in any of the walls.

"I'm tired of waking up in cold, dark places," she sighed. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to warm up.

"I'm sorry," said a voice behind her. She turned and squinted, and was able to make out Kiree, sitting with her back against the wall. She couldn't see her friend's face, but her voice sounded... defeated. "It's my fault you're here."

"Where are we, Kiree? What happened to us? The last thing I remember... we were on our way to Blacklake, to look for Lucas. Oh, I do hope he's alright!"

"I'm sure that wherever Lucas is, he's in a much better position than we are," said Kiree. "We got jumped. Somebody knocked me out from behind. I didn't get a chance to see who. I'm guessing they did the same to you, and brought you here simply because you had the misfortune of being with me."

"I don't feel like I've been hit over the head," Esme replied, running her fingers expertly over her scalp to check for bruising or bleeding. "Just queasy, mostly." Her words were met with silence, so she continued. "I hope you're not blaming yourself for this."

"Not blaming myself?" Kiree laughed, though there was no mirth in it. "Who else can I blame? You? Lucas? My parents? The gods? I have nobody _but_ myself to blame, Esme."

"I don't believe that. Sure, you made some bad choices when you were younger-"

"Bad choices? I joined a group of organised criminals. That's not a bad choice. A bad choice is bringing the wrong guy home to meet your parents. What I made is the worst mistake of my life, and now not only am I paying for it, but you are too. Of course it's my fault."

"Your initial choices were your fault, yes. But what's happening now is not."

"That's one of the things I like most about you, Esmerelle. And one of the few things I _dislike_ about you. You're so damned forgiving of everything. You never get angry, you never lay blame, even when it's well-deserved. You see everybody as a victim of unfortunate circumstance. But I don't _want_ to be a victim. I'm not Lucas. I don't need to bend the truth or hide in shadows, even when I _am_ hiding in shadows. I'm capable and willing of admitting my own mistakes and accepting responsibility for our situation."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Esme asked quietly. "Because you dislike me? Because I make you feel bad for being so forgiving and understanding?"

There was silence from the near-darkness. Then Kiree sighed. "If I thought it would make you angry at me, and rightfully so, I'd say yes. But it wouldn't make you angry. You'd just accept it and try to make things better. But you can't make everything better, Esme. You can't heal everything in this world. I haven't been avoiding you. I've been protecting you. You and the others. When we're travelling around, it's different. We're never in the same place for more than a few days. I can be anonymous. But whenever we settle down for the winter, I have to go to ground. I have to keep my head down, to make sure I'm not noticed. I spend my time moving around safe-houses of friends and like-minded individuals. I put out feelers, listen to rumours, and try to stay ahead of my enemies. Unfortunately, the Shadow Thieves have made a lot of headway in Neverwinter since I was last here. It's nothing short of all-out war in the Docks area."

"War?" Esme gasped in shock.

"Don't worry. It's not a war that most people will notice. When thieves fight, it's not with siege equipment and armies. It's with poison and hidden knives and betrayal. Bodies will turn up in alley-ways, or floating in the harbour. Pick-pockets and fences will stay home. Merchants will pay their tithes to whoever comes around to collect it, but the only casualties will be other thieves. It's a twisted sort of honour system. You don't hurt those from whom you wish to steal or extort. You make sure they're taken care of. It's a more civilised form of warfare than Lords and their Knights could conceive," Kiree snorted.

"I don't understand why the Shadow Thieves are so determined to find you. I mean, you're just one woman. Surely other Thieves have left the group before you, and probably after you. What makes you so important to them?"

"I'm not important to the Shadow Thieves. I'm important to _a_ Shadow Thief, and he happens to be quite high-ranking within the organisation. He was the one who brought me into the 'family', and he wasn't very pleased when I left. He considered it a betrayal. A personal insult."

"Were you two... um..."

"Lovers? Yes. That's why he took my leaving personally."

"And he's here, in Neverwinter?"

"Thankfully, no. He was originally in charge of the guild in Silverymoon. It was a small guild, mostly because we had to stay under the radar of Alustriel and the mages. I heard that a few years ago, he was promoted to the larger guild in Luskan."

"What are the chances of both your enemies _and_ Lucas' enemies catching up to us on the same day, in the same city?"

"Lucas says we're all play-things of the gods," Kiree replied.

"I don't believe that. But what happens now? I'm guessing we sit here in the darkness for a while, pondering our fates? Then somebody from the Shadow Thieves comes along and makes some random threats? Possibly alluding to our grisly ends?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Fantastic," Esme sighed.

o - o - o - o - o

Standing outside The Lass, Duncan rubbed his hands together and blew warm breath across his freezing fingers. No stranger to cold, even he found the chill wind particularly biting this evening. Lizzie, dressed in sheer silks and thin satin shoes, was not even shivering, and he wondered how she managed to ignore the cold so effectively.

"And you're sure you know what to do?" Lucas asked her, and Duncan began to pay attention to the conversation once more.

"Please, Lucas, this is hardly a challenging role," said Lizzie, rolling her eyes. "From what you've told me, the man is a complete moron."

"But a vicious moron. Please do not underestimate him. And Duncan..."

"Yes, yes, I know," Duncan said, for at least the fifth time since they had left Lizzie's house. "We've been over it. I know what I'm supposed to say, and do, and where we're supposed to go. Stop worrying. Have a little faith."

"Oh, I have faith alright," said Lucas drily. "I just hope it's not misplaced."

"Come, Duncan," said Lizzie, offering him her arm, "we should begin. Too much more time spent standing around out here, and I'll need to put on a coat."

He took her arm and led her up the steps to The Lass, opening the door and allowing her to enter before him. At once, the noise in the tavern fell by several decibels, and more than one pair of eyes was turned towards the young woman by his side. When the door closed behind him, he offered her his arm, and escorted her to the far corner of the room. Caleb was still there, still surrounded by hangers-on, although there were fewer of them now than there had been earlier. When they approached him, his gaze turned towards Lizzie, and settled on her ample cleavage.

"Caleb?" Duncan asked. The man nodded, but didn't take his eyes off the actress. "My name's Duncan, and this is my sister, Lizzie. She works on Coppergate Street most evenings. Maybe you've seen her before?"

"Uh..." said Caleb, and Duncan could _see_ the man's mind working. To claim not to have seen her would be an insult to her, and would show his ignorance. Coppergate Street was one of the more affluent areas of the Docks. A man needed to have more than a little coin to hire a prostitute from there. "Course I seen her. Most beautiful girl on that cesspit of a street."

Lizzie giggled, and Duncan cleared his throat. "Yes indeed. Well, you see, my sister has seen you around a few times, and she's recently heard that you're... moving up in the world. She likes a man with ambition, and she's decided she'd like to get to know you a little better. Maybe come to some sort of... arrangement."

"What sort of 'arrangement' are we talking about?"

"Simply put, she's tired of standing on street corners, tired of being oggled by men who can't afford her. She's been thinking for a while of becoming a mistress, but she'd quite happily engage in a mutually beneficial relationship with a successful young entrepreneur such as yourself."

"Is that right? And what would such a mutually beneficial relationship cost me?"

Duncan glanced around the room. "Do you have somewhere a little more... private... that we could go? Such delicate negotiations should not take place in a public venue. My sister has a reputation to maintain, after all."

"Hmm. I suppose we could go back to my house and talk there."

"Excellent! A plan! Shall we go, then?"

"But Duncan," said Lizzie, gently tugging at his sleeve, "can't we talk at our house? It's nice and toasty warm there, and when we're done I can get straight to bed."

"I'm sure Caleb would rather negotiate in his own place, Lizzie."

"No need to be so hasty," Caleb slurred, his eyes still firmly on Lizzie's cleavage. "If the lady would rather talk in the comfort of her own home, I'm more than happy to oblige."

"Oh, wonderful!" Lizzie smiled, clapping her hands in delight.

"I can see you're in the middle of your drink," Duncan told Caleb, gesturing at the half-empty glass. "Would you like to wait until you've finished here?"

"I make a point of never keeping a beautiful woman waiting," Caleb replied. Duncan felt his hand itching; he wanted nothing more than to punch the creep who was even now still staring at Lizzie's chest. Two things held him back. His friends needed him, and starting a brawl here would probably not be a good idea. He'd show Lucas that he could exercise restraint... sometimes. "Shall we go, m'lady?" asked Caleb, offering Lizzie his arm. She giggled and took it, allowing him to lead her out of the Lass, with Duncan following behind.

"I love watching the stars on a clear night," Lizzie sighed, gazing up at the cloudless sky. "Don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," said Caleb, tearing his gaze away from Lizzie to glance upwards. "They're uh... nice. Twinkly."

"That's one of the things I like most about working on the streets. You get to see all the stars come up. I know most of their name, you know. A good looking sailor taught me them. Don't worry, he wasn't as good looking as you," she simpered. "You know, the stars remind me of diamonds; beautiful and clear. Once you've arranged my fee with my brother, you can buy me a diamond necklace. That way, wherever I go, people will know how rich and powerful you are."

"Diamonds, eh? That could get expensive."

"And what better way to display your status and wealth than with a beautiful woman adorned with beautiful jewels? And, you know, once we're alone, I can wear nothing _but_ the jewels, if you like." She gave him a coy smile, biting her bottom lip. "Would you like that?"

"Err... how far away, exactly, is your house?"

"Over on Tin Lane. Oh, Duncan!" she turned her head and flashed him a smile, "we should take the short-cut through Fern Alley. We'd get there much faster... and I really am getting far too cold. Look, you can even see my nipples through my dress."

"Absolutely not, Lizzie," he said firmly, making sure to look _anywhere_ but at her nipples. "It's too dangerous at this time of night. I might not be able to protect you."

"Spoken like a true coward," Caleb sneered. "Do you even know how to use that sword, or is it just for show?" He turned to Lizzie without waiting for an answer. "If the lady desires a shortcut, then we will take a shortcut. I will protect you, if need be, fair Lizzie. You need have no fear with me around."

"Marvellous!" Lizzie smiled. "You see, Duncan? You don't always need to worry about me. Caleb is here to take care of me now."

Duncan made an attempt at grumbling under his breath as Caleb took Lizzie towards the entrance of Fern Alley, but neither of the pair appeared to be paying him any attention anymore. Lizzie was still keeping up her running commentary of the stars, pointing some of them out and naming them. He had no idea if they were true names, or names Lizzie had made up, but her ruse was effective; Caleb's attention was torn between Lizzie and the sky, and he was paying little care to his surroundings.

As they reached the rendezvous point, Duncan slowed his pace a little. He didn't want to get too close, to give Caleb a reason to feel defensive. Using the pretence of giving the pair some privacy, he dropped back by several paces. And, as the pre-arranged meeting place loomed into view, he sent a silent prayer to any God listening that Lucas knew what he was doing.

o - o - o - o - o

Lucas stood silently in the shadows, his eyes focused on the rendezvous point, but the rest of the scene covered by his peripheral vision. It wouldn't do to be caught out, not tonight, not with so much at stake. He didn't doubt that the Shadow Thieves would kill both Kiree and Esme, and he only hoped that they hadn't already done so. Every moment that the two women were captive increased the risk to their lives, and they had, potentially, been captive for hours already.

He wasn't as good at hiding in the shadows as Kiree - very few people could match a trained thief for skulking, and even fewer could match a halfling thief - but a lifetime of wariness and caution had taught him a few things. It was a testament to his abilities that he was still alive, when almost every other Tethyrian noble from the reign of King Alemander was now a simple footnote in history. It was a testament to his skills that he had lived to see old age. Nobody had taught him how to survive, it was something he had had to learn for himself, and sometimes the lessons were learnt the hard way, by making mistakes and surviving them.

Too few people, he believed, possessed the ability to learn from their mistakes. Just look at Duncan, for example. The man was like a child, prodding everything new with deadly curiosity. He made the same mistakes more than once and rarely seemed to learn from them. You'd think that after the twentieth hang-over, he would have learnt not to drink so much. But no, he recklessly continued doing whatever whim came to him, regardless of the consequences.

When it came right down to it, Duncan was weak, and foolish. He let himself be ruled by his emotions, by his instincts, by action. Which was probably a good thing, really, because if he ever _did_ stop to engage his brain, he would probably be dangerous. Lucas had tried teaching him, of course; he felt that to do otherwise was selfish. But Duncan seemed to take his advice as a lecture, as a personal rebuke, rather than as an informative statement. He took things far too personally and struggled to see the bigger pictures.

So focused was he on his own musings, that he almost missed Lizzie and Caleb passing by his hiding place. As the woman began describing one of the stars in the sky, Lucas whispered the words of the spell and then raised his hand, his finger pointing at Caleb. The thief never knew what hit him. One moment he was looking up at the stars, following Lizzie's gaze, and the next he was slumped in a heap in the alley emitting a gentle snore.

Duncan bounded into view as Lucas left his hiding place, and gave the sleeping thief a gentle nudge with his foot. Really, did he think that was necessary? Perhaps he suspected that Caleb was faking sleep, that his snores were just a ruse? Duncan could be extremely dense, at times.

"That went better than I had hoped," Lucas said. "Some strong-willed individuals can shrug off a Sleep spell. Luckily, it seems Caleb is quite feeble-minded."

"He was also steaming drunk, which probably helped," Lizzie point out.

He turned and took her hand. "Thank you, my dear, you were wonderful tonight. One of your best performances yet."

"Hardly a test of my skills, though I did have to try awfully hard not to let his stench overwhelm me. Next time, please come up with a more challenging role for me to perform."

"I promise. Now, it would be best if we escorted you home with all haste. Caleb will only be napping for a couple of minutes, and I think it would be wise for you to be nowhere in sight when we... question... him."

"Are you sure Lizzie will be safe?" Duncan asked, his hand hovering subconsciously over his sword. "It's just that... Caleb knows what she looks like. What if he takes exception to being fooled and comes after her for revenge?"

"Please," Lizzie replied, rolling her eyes, "he spent so much time staring at my breasts that I doubt he could pick me out of a crowd of two. Besides, I know how to take care of myself."

"Lizzie's quite an accomplished martial artist," Lucas explained. "She excels in unarmed combat."

"How... uh... reassuring," said Duncan.

"I'll get myself home, no need to worry about escorting me," said Lizzie. "You just find somewhere quiet to question Caleb. And I sincerely hope that you get your friends back."

Lizzie sauntered away without another word, and Lucas pulled a dark woollen hood from his pocket. Crouching, he slipped it over Caleb's head, then bound the man's arms tightly behind his back.

"So, where to now?" said Duncan, rubbing his hands together to stave off the cold.

"I have just the place in mind."

o - o - o - o - o

"You're awfully quiet," said Kiree.

Esme shrugged. She had no idea how long she and her friend had been held captive in the cold, dark room. Maybe the Shadow Thieves had forgotten about them. Maybe they were going to leave the pair to starve to death, alone in the dark. She didn't think she could stand to be kept away from Lathander's light. She didn't want to die in darkness.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kiree prompted.

"Here? Now? Like this?"

"You have something better to be doing right now?"

"I suppose not," she relented. "But you might not understand."

"Try me."

"You remember when we got separated by the river earlier in the year?"

"How could I forget?"

"Whilst I was waiting to be found, I prayed to Lathander, and asked him to watch over all of you until we were reunited. I swore to him that I would be more dutiful about my prayers from that moment on... and I swore that I would never take a life. Not for any reason. Today, in the alley, when Lucas and I were attacked... I broke my oath, Kiree. It's not just the fact that I killed somebody that makes me a bad person, it's the fact that I broke an oath that I swore to my God. I don't want to be the sort of person who lies and murders."

"Did you intentionally kill the man who attacked you?"

"No, it was an accident."

"Then you're not a murderer. And because you didn't intentionally kill him, you're not a liar, either."

"But-"

"Listen to me, Esme. I think your oath was noble and admirable... but also naïve and maybe a little misguided. Sometimes you have to kill, in self defence or in the defence of others. But killing does not make you a bad person. Think of it this way; would you kill a child to save a thousand people?"

"Of course not!"

"Would you kill a murderer to save a thousand people?"

"No. Nothing gives me the right to judge somebody and take a life."

"You wouldn't kill a murderer to save a thousand innocent people?" Kiree asked, her eyebrows rising up in disbelief.

"What if that murderer can be redeemed, and then go on to save a million people? By condemning one person to save a thousand, I might also doom a million. Killing is killing, and murder is murder; you can't excuse it with maths. Every life is worth something to me."

"And where does it stop? When you fight monsters such as orcs or kobolds or ogres, will you also avoid harming them? What about evil creatures, or the undead?"

"The undead are unnatural abominations. They have no life, only un-life, and it is a kindness to destroy them and allow their bodies and souls to rest eternally," Esme said by rote.

"But kobolds? Goblins? Ogres? They're not undead. They all live. They all have their own societies, even if we don't understand, or abhor them. We've had a slow year, this year, the whole Eldreth Veluuthra thing notwithstanding. In a normal year, we're hired out by any number of small villages and hamlets to flush out goblin nests or kobold caves. Such monsters regularly take livestock and sometimes even people, when they can. Would you let somebody end up in an orc's cooking pot simply because of your own morals?"

"I... don't know," she admitted. Apart from a group of gnolls, from which she'd fled, she'd never come up against a group of humanoid monsters before.

"Killing can be a burden, yes," Kiree continued. "But if it means making the realms a safer place, then it is a burden I will gladly carry. If the cost of a thousand people living in peace and safety is my stained conscience, then it's a price I'll gladly pay. And if it takes my life to keep a thousand people safe, then I'll give my life without a second thought."

"How very noble of you," came a sneering voice from beside the door.

Esme stood and backed away from the front of the cage, peering at the darkness, trying to discern who was there. At first she saw nothing, but then noticed the darkness had a certain... _swirling_... quality to it. The door did not open, but a figure coalesced from the shadows, its body illuminated by the light of the single candle. When it was fully formed, Esme realised she was looking at an elf; his dark brown her was a similar shade to her own, and cut short, exposing his long, tapering ears. He was dressed entirely in black, and sheathed on each hip was a short blade in a black scabbard.

"Uh-oh," said Kiree.

"Is this the man you told me about?" Esme whispered.

"No. Worse."

"Don't worry," said the elf, stepping forward towards the cage. Esme took another step back, as did Kiree. Suddenly, the bars seemed not so much a cage, keeping her prisoner, but a barrier between herself and the dark figure. "I'm not here to make random threats or allude to your grisly end. I'm simply here to tell you that a pigeon has been sent to Luskan, advising Beronar of your capture. I believe that he personally wishes to deal with you. Something about you making him rather angry when you left the family."

"Look," said Kiree as she stepped forward to grasp the bars, "I know that I'm going to get what I deserve, and I can live with that. But please, let my friend go. She has nothing to do with any of this."

"I wish I could," said the elf. He turned away to look at the candle. "I hear she makes wonderful potions. But she would only alert your allies or the authorities to your capture. You've disappointed us, Kiree, allowing yourself to be captured by a fool like Caleb. It reflects badly on the rest of us. Your friend's fate is to be your punishment. What that fate is depends on how much pleasure Beronar derives from your slow death."

"But-"

"Enough. You are not in a position to make requests, and I do not care to hear them. I'm not here to give you a long exposition, merely to tell you that Beronar is coming. You will be given enough food and water to sustain you until he arrives. Whether you choose to eat and drink is your own choice. Somebody will be along shortly to feed you. If you try to escape, I will kill your friend without hesitation. Do you understand?" Kiree nodded. "Good."

The elf stepped backwards, away from the candle, and the shadows swirled again. A few seconds later he was gone, and the pair were left alone once more.

o - o - o - o - o

The key slid silently into the lock and opened without complaint. Lucas pushed the door open, and held it so that Duncan could manhandle the groggy Caleb inside. The thief had started to wake up as they had carried him to their 'quiet' place, and was now becoming more vocal about his treatment.

"Where did you get that key?" Duncan asked.

Lucas sighed, and nodded his head at the thief. In truth, Esme had given him the spare key to her workshop, but he could hardly say so in front of Caleb, and Duncan should have known that. They couldn't give Caleb any clue about who they were or where they had taken him.

"I'll get some candles," Duncan said, reaching behind the counter.

"Don't bother," said Lucas. "Just open the curtains. We can question our friend by moonlight, and he's not likely to be seeing much, what with the hood over his head. "And fetch me a chair, whilst you're at it."

"Finally feeling your age, huh?"

"Just get the chair," he sighed.

Duncan eventually complied, fetching the stool from behind the counter and opening the curtains to admit the light of the moon into the room. Lucas, meanwhile, forced Caleb to sit on the stool, tying the man's feet to the legs of the stool and re-checking the bindings around his hands. They were still sound, but he hadn't expected anything less. He always did a proper job the first time around.

"Hey, what's the meaning of this?" said Caleb, attempting to thrash to free himself from the ropes which held him.

"We just want to talk. That's all," said Duncan.

"I recognise your voice. You're Lizzie's brother. What are you doing to me, and where is that traitorous wench?"

"Why don't you let us ask the questions here, hmm?"

"Ask all you want, half-breed, I don't have to listen. You won't be getting anything out of me. And if you've taken my money then I'll track you down and make you pay back every copper in blood."

Lucas slipped around to the back of the thief, reached down and took the man's hand, and in one swift movement wrenched back the man's little finger on his left hand. Caleb cried out in pain, and Duncan jumped in surprise.

"That was to show you how serious I am about getting answers," Lucas said calmly.

"Are you insane?" Duncan said angrily. "You can't hurt him. That's torture!"

"I'm not insane, but this is the only way we'll get our answers. Isn't that right, Caleb?"

"Bite me," the thief growled from beneath the hood.

Lucas selected the next finger along, and applied fast pressure until it too broke. Caleb screamed, and Duncan winced at the sound the digit made as it snapped.

"That was for being impolite," Lucas told him. "As a logical man, I'm sure you can understand the predicament you now face. I'm not going to kill you. But I am going to get answers out of you by any means necessary. I will break your fingers and thumbs one by one. We don't have to stop there. I can do your toes next, and work my way up... your wrists, your ankles. It will hurt, of course, and maybe you'll even pass out. But by that point, it won't matter. How effective can a thief be, with ten broken fingers and thumbs? How can you ply your trade with a broken wrist? How can you sneak around silently in the shadows if I ruin your feet? You're a young man, Caleb, and you have a lot to live for. But unless I start hearing what I want to hear... I'm not going to take your life, Caleb. I'm going to take your future."

"Alright, just... keep away from my fingers," the thief relented.

"I'm glad you've decided to be sensible about this. Now. Earlier this evening to captured two women. Tell me how."

"I recognised the halfling from a picture that was sent around the Docks. Said she had a bounty on her head. When I saw her, she was with that girl, the one who makes potions. They were talking, distracted. They didn't see me coming. I knocked the halfling out easy enough, and used chloform on the girl before she even knew what was happening."

"And you took them... where?"

"To a Shadow Thief guild-house."

"And the location of this guild-house?"

"I tell you that and I'm a dead man," Caleb growled.

"Maybe. Maybe not. The Thieves don't have to know who told us where their guild-house is. Could be that they have a traitor in their midst. You can't trust anybody, these days. The Thieves _may_ punish you for this later, but if you don't give me an answer, I'm going to punish you _now._ Your choice."

"Behind the Green Goblin. House with the blue door and the dragon-knocker. Happy now?"

"Quite. Thank you, you've been very helpful."

"Why are you so interested in those women? Who sent you to question me?"

"You've been stepping on a lot of toes recently, Caleb. You should remember where your allegiances lie."

Before Caleb could ask any more questions, Lucas cast the Sleep spell again, and within seconds the thief was snoring. Lucas moved quickly, to untie the man's hands and feet.

"Your brutality was entirely unnecessary," Duncan accused.

"That wasn't brutality. That was finesse. We needed answers fast, and we have them. You can doubt my methods, but not their effectiveness."

"I also doubt that Esme would want you to torture somebody just to find her."

"What Esmerelle doesn't know can't hurt her. Now, are you going to help me with Caleb before he starts waking up, or do I have to silence him more... efficiently?"

Under they cover of darkness they man-handled Caleb out of the building and left him still bound and hooded in an alley several streets away. Then they had another 'discussion'. Duncan wanted to rush to the Shadow Thief guild-house to mount a daring rescue of his friends. But, Lucas pointed out to him, running through the Docks was probably the best way of drawing attention to yourself. A running man was either running to something or from something, and a man running at night, in an area infested with thieves, smugglers and Blood Sailors, was more than a curiosity.

So Lucas won, and he forced them to travel slowly, singing songs in slurred voices and stumbling as they went. Just another couple of drunks, on their way home after having spent up in the taverns. Nothing new or unusual there, the Docks area was filled with drunk men, and there was nothing about them to raise any suspicions, not even when the pair stopped singing and took to the alleys just before they arrived at the Green Goblin.

Creeping as quietly as possible, they found a place to hide across the road and further down the street from the large, decrepit looking house with the blue door and the dragon-knocker. Outside the building, two armed men lounged casually against the wall. They didn't talk, but they observed their surroundings periodically. Any slight change - a drunk stumbling down the street, a cat jumping from roof to roof, a rat shifting through the refuse - was enough to gain their attention. They were too wary and too alert to be plain old bouncers.

After a few moments of silent observation, Lucas motioned for Duncan to step back and join him around the corner of the building from which they watched. "Guards," he said, and the half-elf nodded in agreement. "And there's probably half a dozen more behind that door. Plus however many Thieves are currently housed in the guild and not out on jobs."

"So? I don't care how many there are. We've come too close to turn back now. I'm not leaving Kiree and Esme in there, not even if there's a hundred Shadow Thieves to fight."

"I'm not saying we should give up, you... that is, what I mean to say is that we're clearly in over our heads. They have the advantage of numbers, and the advantage of fighting on familiar territory. Plus, as you so aptly pointed out earlier, I'm not as young as I used to be. Ten years ago I might have thought little of taking on a couple of dozen armed thieves. But now... there's too much at risk for us to be playing hot-headed fools. As much as I hate to admit it, we need the others. Shayla can use her magics to confuse the thieves, and Belvar and Daeghun can provide much-needed muscle."

"Alright," Duncan said, "I agree with your assessment. Let's go and get the others and get back here before the sun starts coming up. The Thieves who are out on jobs will start returning as it gets light, and decrease our chances of success."

Lucas shook his head. "You go. I'll only slow you down. Besides, one of us needs to stay here and keep watch in case the situation changes. If they move Kiree and Esme, we may never find them again."

"Well... I suppose you're right. I'll run and fetch the others. We'll meet you back here. Just... watch the place carefully. And don't go drawing attention to yourself."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Duncan said, then crept out of the alley before setting off at a sprint.

"Don't draw attention to myself indeed," Lucas snorted. "Slow him down, would I? Not as young as I used to be? There's still more than enough fight left in me. I'll show the young fool that fighting requires wits as well as strength."

Keeping to the shadows, he made his way along the street, towards the Green Goblin. When he reached the back of the tavern, he stepped out of the shadows and began a sort of limping shuffle, making his way slowly up the street whilst mumbling quietly to himself. The one or two drunks who saw him ignored him, and in this area of the Docks there were no ladies of the night to worry about. Each step he took brought him closer to the blue-doored house, until at last the guards came into view. When they saw him they perked up, but quickly settled back down once they decided he wasn't a threat. Coughing, and still mumbling, he approached the first guard, and began plucking at the man's sleeve with shaking hands.

"Please, sir, might you have a copper to spare for a homeless old man?" he asked in a quaking voice.

"Get lost, grandpa, before you regret it," the man said with a scowl, trying to free his sleeve.

Lucas shifted his hands to the front of the man's shirt. "But sir, it's such a cold night, I've nowhere warm to go. Just a copper or two, so I can buy myself a warming drink?"

"Look, I told you to get lost," the guard said, stepping backwards. He didn't get to finish his sentence. Lucas dropped one hand and silently drew his short sword from its well-oiled scabbard. It slid into the guard's stomach as easily as it had slid out from its sheath, and he immediately brought his right arm up, reaching for one of the throwing knives hidden up his sleeve. His fingers grasped the edge, and he threw it under-arm at the second guard before the man even knew what was happening to his colleague. The knife found its mark in the guard's throat, and he slumped to the ground, a wheezing sigh the only sound to escape his dying lips. The first guard, meanwhile, was crumpled over, his hands around the sword which was stuck in his gut. Lucas twisted the weapon, dragged it across the stomach to eviscerate his opponent, then withdrew it and cut the man's throat. Death by disembowelling was excruciatingly painful. There was no need for the man to suffer, now that Lucas had what he needed from him.

When both men were still, he dragged them both into the alley behind the house. He cleaned his blade on one man's shirt and retrieved his throwing knife from the other man's throat, then made his way back to the front of the house. When he was ready, he pulled a small vial of liquid from his pocket, holding it firmly in his hand. He always kept one about his person for such emergencies, and was glad of his own foresight. He rapped firmly on the door three times, and then waited. A slot in the door opened at head-height, but Lucas was standing off to one side so he could not be seen.

"What is it?" asked a gruff voice.

"Trouble," Lucas replied, in a perfect mimicry of his dead victim. Voice mimicry was an essential part of an actor's repertoire, and he had practiced it extensively throughout the years. He could even pitch his voice to mimic women, children and humanoids, if he chose. "We got company out here. Looks like a group of the local thieves are planning something. Some of them have firebrands."

"I don't see anything."

"Not from there you won't. Now let me in, we need to get ready for an attack."

"I want to see these thieves for myself," the man replied. There was a sound of bolts sliding back, and Lucas quickly downed the contents of the vial. He felt the magic begin working through his body immediately, and as the Thief stepped out of the building, Lucas disappeared entirely from view. Once the other man was two steps away from the door, Lucas tiptoed around behind him and snuck into the guild-house. "Hey, where are you?" the Shadow Thief called out. "Anders? Rex? If you're screwing with me again you'll feel the sharp edge of my blade."

Lucas hurried down the hallway, his soft leather boots facilitating his silent passage. The door guard's voice fell away and became silent. Hopefully he wouldn't think of looking around the back of the building; if he found his dead friends, he would raise the alarm and make Lucas' task far more difficult. He wished he could have killed the man, but he only had a single Invisibility potion, and taking action against somebody would have negated its effects.

Voices floated through the air, and Lucas stopped still to listen. He could make out three distinct voices, all male, and one of them spoke more often than the others. That one was a quieter voice; it was muted, its words less clear. People with quiet voices were always folks to be wary of. Many of them had realised that where most people would ignore a shout, they would strain to hear a whisper. Sometimes, Lucas thought, the difference between a fool and an intelligent man could be told in the volume of his voice.

He traced the speakers to a room, and listened with his ear to the closed door.

"...Just saying, we might as well get our money's worth out of 'em while they're here..." said one voice.

"And I told you 'no'. Do not make me repeat myself," said somebody else, and Lucas recognised the speaker as the quiet voice. Hearing it made the hair on his neck stand on end.

"Yes, Aurelus," said the first voice contritely.

"I still think we should've gutted that Caleb," said a third voice. "I dun like him. He swaggers. A little man with big ideas of himself."

"Little men I can handle," said the quiet voice. "Caleb will be a useful tool. He is small-minded and predictable. Now, you two, go and feed our guests. But don't touch them. If you do, I will kill you."

Lucas shivered. It was rare to find somebody who could so casually and dispassionately threaten others. Some did it with a puffed-up sense of ego and bravado, so scare their victims into compliance. Some did it to terrify their victims, and such people were usually mad-men. But to hear death spoken of so idly... the quiet speaker was the leader of the Shadow Thieves here in Neverwinter, Lucas knew. Nobody else would issue such a threat. Nobody else would have the power and ability to carry out that threat.

The door opened and Lucas stepped aside, allowing two men to exit the room. Before the door could swing shut, he side-stepped around it and found himself in what was probably the head-quarters for the guild-house. The room was large and fairly opulent; beautiful paintings were hung around the walls, and various chests and caskets stood piled in one corner, probably containing contraband. The room was lit by candles in sconces around the walls, which formed pools of soft light separated by areas of darkness. And, at the head of the room, a man sat in a chair raised on a dais. Other chairs were in positioned in front of it, but these were empty. The man in the chair was a short-haired elf dressed in black clothes and boots. Two short swords hung from his belt, and by his left hand another Thief in grey garb stood waiting.

Lucas began to wish he hadn't entered the room; there was no other way out, and he couldn't open the door himself without causing his Invisibility potion to wear off. The elf raised his head and glanced casually around the room, then turned to the man by his side.

"Go and check on Lester," he said. "Then check on Anders and Rex. And when you go, raise the alarm. It seems we have an intruder."

"How-"

"Just go," the elf sighed. The man hurried from the room, and Lucas found himself torn between following him out of the door and staying to kill the Thieves' leader whilst he was still invisible. In the end, he chose to stay. The Thieves would be more disorganised without a leader. Or, if he could disarm the elf, he might be able to take him hostage and have his friends freed in exchange.

The elf stood, and made his way down the steps of the dais. "Come now," he said, "there is no need to hide. Can we not talk like gentlemen?" Lucas said nothing, but crept towards the Thief leader, his hand on his weapon. "You're clearly more competent than the local thieves," the elf continued, glancing from side to side. "None of them have been able to make it this far. I'd be interested in learning how you got past my men. I might even let you live."

As soon as he was within striking distance, Lucas drew his sword and aimed for the elf's back. His opponent turned with his own swords drawn, and parried the strike, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing around the room. Lucas felt the magic of the potion leave his body, and the elf drew back into a ready-stance, his weapons raised and ready to strike.

"There was no need for that," the elf said. "You already had my attention. But I must say, I'm impressed. Very few people have the guts, or the skill, to infiltrate a Shadow Thief base. Would you like a job?"

"I'm here for my friends," Lucas said, mimicking the elf's stance. Into his left hand he drew a small dagger, so that he could parry and strike at the same time. "Where are they?"

"Ah, our guests. I should have known. I'm afraid I can't let them leave. And since you have discerned the location of our guild-house, I'm afraid I can't let you leave either."

"Then you'll die."

"Now now. Is that any way to talk to your elders?"

With a smile on his lips, Lucas leapt forward into the fight.

o - o - o - o - o

Esme ignored the bowl of soup and crust of bread by the cage door. She still felt nauseous and had no appetite. Down here, in the dark, with only a single candle to see by, it was hard to gauge how long they had been prisoners for. It felt like an eternity. The candle had been replaced earlier by their captors when the food had been brought, but that didn't mean anything. Some candles were fast-burning, and some were slow. Candles were not reliable. They varied from one candle to the next. Not like the sun, which was constant even through the changing seasons.

"How long do you think we've been down here?" she asked aloud.

A scream from outside the closed door cut off Kiree's reply. It was followed immediately by several loud banging sounds, muffled voices crying out, and then another cry of pain. Esme instinctively backed away towards the furthest side of the cage, and Kiree was a heartbeat behind her. As the door was unlocked and began to swing open, she tensed, knowing that it was pointless to do so.

But instead of another Shadow Thief, or some unknown assailant, it was instead Lucas who entered the room. His clothes were blood-spattered and had been torn or cut in several place, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. With his trademark limp he made his way to the cage, and offered them a low bow.

"Fear not, ladies, I'm here to rescue you."

"About bloody time," said Kiree, planting her fists on her hips. "What took you so long? I was almost getting worried."

"Had a little trouble with one of your captors. You could have mentioned that the leader of the Shadow Thieves here in Neverwinter was a Shadowdancer."

"I didn't know," Kiree shrugged. "Only found out when he put in an appearance for us earlier."

"What do you mean, 'was'?" Esme asked quietly. "You killed him?"

"No, I disarmed him intending to take him hostage, but he fled via the shadows. Still, I was left with these for my trouble." He patted two swords which had been pushed through his belt. "Short Swords of Quickness. Very useful. I've been meaning to buy one for a while but never got around to it. Quite fortunate, really."

"I can't open the cage from this side," Kiree said, "I already tried. You'll have to find the key and let us out."

"This key?" he asked, pulling a long silver key from his pocket. "Happy to oblige." He opened the lock and the cage door swung silently open.

"Where are the others?"

"Oh, they'll be around somewhere, I'm sure. But now I think it's long past time for us to be gone from this place. Don't you?"

"Gone from this place, and gone from Neverwinter," Kiree agreed with a shiver. "We don't want to be around when the next ship from Luskan arrives. It has some... unsavoury... characters aboard."

Lucas led the way out of the room, striding over two corpses just outside the door. Esme closed her eyes as she stepped around them. They were the guards who had earlier brought them food. Yet more dead men littering her path courtesy of Lucas. Was this to be her fate? Was she doomed to be surrounded by death, by people who dealt it? Her musings continued as they ascended the stairs and met more bodies. The walls had been decorated by patterns of blood, some of them delicate and lace-like. Seeing them made Esme want to retch, and she put a steadying hand on Kiree's shoulder. The carnage was recent; the house did not yet smell like death and decay, but she knew that before too long, flies and carrion-eaters would arrive and begin feasting.

"You!" The word snapped through Esme's dream-like state of nauseous musing and brought her attention back to reality. Duncan was standing just inside the entrance to the building, a dead body by his feet. Behind him, Belvar, Daeghun and Shayla were crowding round. Duncan's arm was raised, his finger pointing at Lucas as if issuing a magical curse. "You swore you'd wait until we got back," he said angrily, and Esme felt a moment of fear. She'd never seen Duncan this angry before. "You could have gotten Esme and Kiree killed, not to mention yourself."

"Not bad for an old man though, hmm?" Lucas replied.

"Your actions were hasty and foolhardy, Lucas," said Daeghun. "You should not have acted alone. This was a matter for us all to be involved in. As Duncan said, it could have ended badly."

"Stop it!" Esme shouted, and everybody fell silent to look at her. "Can we not have this conversation now? I don't want to be around all this death. I just... I want to be somewhere warm. I want to watch the sun rise from my bed. I don't want to be here a moment longer."

"Of course, Esmerelle," said Shayla, stepping forward and taking her by the arm. "Just come with me. We'll get you and Kiree back to the tavern for something warm to eat and drink. Don't give any of this another thought."

"You should all get back to the tavern," Lucas said. "It will be getting light soon. We don't want to be here when the rest of the Shadow Thieves in the city start arriving."

"What about you?" Daeghun asked.

"I'll return to the tavern shortly. Duncan and I have something to do, first."

o - o - o - o - o

"What's all this about?" Duncan asked as he followed Lucas down the street. "I could murder a nice cold ale right about now."

"We have a debt to settle," Lucas replied without looking at him. "By the way, this is for you." He took one of the short swords from his belt and handed it to him. "A Short Sword of Quickness. It may come in useful in the future."

"Oh. Well... thanks." He accepted the sword and pushed it through his own belt, on the opposite side to his long sword scabbard. "But don't think this makes things right. I'm still angry with you for what you did back there. I still think it was selfish and dangerous."

"It was a risk I was willing to take."

"But if you'd waited, the risk would have been so much less! And you knew that. You sent me to get the others because you knew if I remained, I would have tried to stop you."

"My way was best," Lucas said, stubborn as ever. "In time you may come to realise that. But if not... no big loss to me. Ah, here we are."

Duncan stopped, and looked up at the familiar low red building. With the rising sun just cresting the horizon, spilling its rays of light onto the docks, the red paint of The Lass looked more like a deep scarlet blood shade. "What are we doing back here? I doubt we'll find Caleb, if that's the 'debt' you've come to settle. Besides, I think the Watch are more suited to dealing with him."

"My business with Caleb is done. I hope I never have to lay eyes on the man again." Without another word, Lucas climbed the steps to the door of The Lass and entered the building. With a sigh, Duncan followed. He didn't know what the old man had in mind, but it would be best to keep a close eye on him.

The inn was almost empty; two or three patrons remained slumped at their tables, snoring quietly, and one of the serving girls was mopping the floor, but otherwise it was quiet. When Lucas approached the bar, the innkeeper appeared as if by magic.

"We're closed now," the man said. "Say, wait a minute, I recognise you two. You were in here earlier. What brings you back at such an ungodly hour?"

"I know the hour is early," Lucas said, "and I apologise for our intrusion, but I was wondering if we might have a word with your son, Ceri. It's nothing bad," he assured the innkeeper, who was now wearing a skeptical expression. "We won't stay long. I know you must be longing for your bed."

"Alright," the innkeeper reluctantly. "I'll go and wake him. But no funny business, mind." They didn't have to wait long. After a moment the innkeeper reappeared, leading a scraggly-looking boy by the shoulders. The lad wore a pair of short breeches and a loose brown shirt, and was barefoot. He yawned as his father led him forwards, and ran a small hand over his freckled face.

"Who're you?" the boy asked, staring up at them.

"We're friends," said Lucas, kneeling down to the boy's level. From his pocket he took two gold marks, and Duncan recognised them as Silverymoon tender; they were one of the purest gold coins to be minted along the Sword Coast. "I just wanted you to have this, for all your help. One each."

"What help?" the boy asked, his eyes trained on the shining coins.

"What are you giving my son coin for?" the innkeeper asked, putting one protective hand on his son's shoulder. "He gets an allowance from me. We're not so poor that we need to be given hand-outs from strangers, like street beggars."

"Your son and his friend were of great assistance to us last night," Lucas said, standing to address the barkeep. "I simply wanted to thank him in my own way."

"You must be mistaken. My son was in bed all night. Isn't that right, Ceri?" The boy nodded in agreement.

"Ahh," said Lucas with a wink for the lad, "then I must be mistaken. But please, take the coin anyway, and spend it as you wish. And if you would be so kind as to give the other to Regor, then I would be most grateful."

"Who's Regor?" Ceri asked, accepting the coins that Lucas proffered.

"Your friend, Regor. The one you were playing Catch with yesterday, in The Lass."

"I don't know anyone called Regor."

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" the innkeeper asked Lucas, with a look of genuine concern on his face. "I know all of my son's friends, I'm very strict about knowing who he plays with, and none of them are called Regor." He glanced to Duncan. "Have the two of you had a long night? Perhaps you should take your friend home for some rest."

"Err, yeah," Duncan said, suppressing the shiver that tried to run rampant through his body, "you know how it is with older folks. Their minds tend to get confused real easy. We'll just be going now. Come on, Lucas."

He turned and led the way out of the tavern, and heard Lucas follow behind. Down the steps he climbed, and waited for the sound of the door closing before he turned to look at the bard. His face was decidedly paler than usual, and he knew that the confused expression in Lucas' eyes was a mirror image of his own.

"I feel like somebody just walked over my grave," he said, allowing the shiver he'd been holding back to finally take hold. He felt the goosebumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck.

"It would seem," said Lucas slowly, "that some... body... is looking out for us." He glanced at the door, and then back to Duncan. "Let us never speak of this again."

Duncan nodded eagerly. Then, with the rising sun painting the sky and the Docks red, he followed Lucas back to their tavern.


	27. Family Part 1

Chapter 27.

Family - Part I

"_Forty years ago, in a Valleys school,_

_the class recited poetry by rote._

_Since the dumbness of misery fell_

_he has remembered there was a music_

_of speech and that once he had something to say..._

o - o - o - o - o

War raged across the Sword Coast as spring did battle with winter for dominance. Spring's champion, the sun, fought daily with winter's icy vanguard. By day, the sun triumphed. The ice melted little by little, the ground warmed and trees woke from their long sleep. Some had fallen victim to winter's grip; the sap inside their trunks had frozen and expanded, shattering the protective bark, killing the trees almost instantly. But the majority lived, and during the day they began to ready themselves for putting out buds.

By night, when the sun retreated and the sky was dominated by Selûne, the temperature dropped and the ice returned, coating the trees with glistening diamonds of water. The ground froze, and the birds and animals that had come out to play in the sun retreated back to their nests and dens to wait for the shining light of Lathander to bring forth another warming.

From Waterdeep, where the companions had travelled to after agreeing Neverwinter was too dangerous to remain, Esmerelle made frequent forays into the nearby woods with Shayla, not only to search for components for her potions but also to learn about the different climate of the coast. The snow, here, was not as bad as it had been in the High Forest, and though the ground froze and any moisture turned to ice that even the light of the sun struggled to melt, the coastal winds kept the worst of the snow away, pushing it miles inland.

Shayla taught Esmerelle how to recognise the signs of spring's approach. She taught her the names of unfamiliar plants and trees, and they discussed at length the different properties of each, both as components for magical potions and for use in traditional healing. Together they watched as the animals, made lethargic over the worst of the winter months, began to spend more time outside in the hunt for food.

Some animals didn't hibernate through the winter; rabbits and hares remained active throughout, the former spending dark winter nights in their warrens and the latter lying out in their exposed forms. Sharp, frozen grass was all they had to sustain them, and as soon as the thaw began the fields became full of the creatures, bulking themselves up in preparation for the breeding season.

Deer, too, could not afford to hibernate. Shayla pointed out roe deer, the males displaying short pairs of velvet-covered antlers, fallow deer with their white-spotted coats, the larger red deer and reindeer with their thick winter coats, and once they even saw a moose, which quickly fled when it noticed them watching. Occasionally they came across an antler which had been dropped earlier in the season, and Shayla took these back with her so that she could carve them into jewelry or figurines in the style of her people.

Smaller creatures were active throughout the winter; otters were a frequent sight on the riverbanks, dashing in and out of their holts as they hauled fish out of the fast-flowing rivers. It amazed Esme that they could tolerate the near-freezing conditions, but Shayla assured her that their waterproof coats and dense under-fur kept them warm and dry. In addition to otters, squirrels were a common sight, dashing amongst the tree tops or digging up nuts and bulbs from hiding places and carrying them back to their dreys. The sight of them reminded Esme of Ashara, Shayla's spirit guide, which always made her smile.

Hedgehogs, martens, beavers, stoats and weasels, badgers, foxes and wolves became more common as the season progressed. Birds, ranging from the humble sparrow to the mighty sea-eagle, became more active in response to the warming days. And the people, too responded to the lengthening days and warmer temperatures. The citizens of Waterdeep spent more time on the streets browsing in the markets and chatting with their friends and neighbours, children stayed out later in the evenings to laugh and play and occasionally squabble and fight.

The day that everybody had been waiting weeks for finally happened. One day, the light of the sun melted the frost, and when the sun rose again the following morning, the frost was nowhere to be seen. Auril had been vanquished, her icy glaciers forced to retreat north once more. Spring had arrived.

o - o - o - o - o

"Tell me again about this festival," Esme said as she strolled down the high street with a full basket on her arm.

"Springfest? I can't believe you don't know about it," said Kiree. The halfling's basket, though smaller, was equally full of food and gifts.

"I was raised in an isolated temple, surrounded by studious priests, and then spent several years alone, or close enough to alone that it makes little difference, in the High Forest. Or had you forgotten?"

"Sometimes I do. I forget that you haven't always been travelling with us, at times. Anyway, Springfest is... Springfest. We use up the remainder of the last year's harvest to cook a feast to celebrate having survived the winter. It's the first major festival of the year. There will be present-giving, and dancing, and merry-making... oh, and the puddings. Can't forget those."

"Puddings?"

"Sure. Lots of dried fruits and nuts left over from last year get baked into delicious fruit cakes. And sometimes fruit pies. The occasional fruit pastry, too. A lot of people make fruit punch, which tastes great with a huge serving of fruit pie. Wouldn't you agree, Shayla?"

Both women looked expectantly towards the elf. As usual, Shayla had spurned the local clothing and was clad in her usual fare; animal furs covering her body but leaving her arms and legs bare, and a bearskin cloak draped around her shoulders. She too carried a basket on one arm, and in her other hand she held her staff. She looked fierce, and quite out of place amongst the locals on the street, but nobody batted an eyelid at her. A strangely dressed elf was barely even worthy of note, in the City of Splendors.

"Hmm?" Shayla said, her gaze unfocused and turned inwards. She barely seemed to see where she was going, much less be paying attention to the conversation. Very unusual. Normally Shayla was alert to the point of paranoia. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"The pie," Kiree prompted. "And the punch. And the dancing. At the festival."

"Oh, yes," Shayla nodded absently. "There is pie. And punch. And dancing. Three days of it. You'll never want to see pie again, afterwards."

"Are you feeling well?" Esme asked. "You seem a little... distracted."

"I'm quite well. In fact I was thinking of spending tomorrow in the woods. A little fresh air and quietness away from all this Springfest preparation."

"Alright, I'll join you then, if that's okay with you. I'd like to check on how the bluebells are doing. I think it will only be a couple more weeks until they start to flower."

"You two are so boring," said Kiree, rolling her eyes. "We're in Waterdeep for Springfest. The festival here is going to be huge. And all you can think about is going for a 'nice quiet walk in the woods'."

"Well, if it helps, I'm also thinking about pie now," Esme grinned.

"Good," said Kiree, reaching up to link her arm through Esme's. "Now I think we should dump these supplies back at the inn and then go shopping for a new dress for Springfest. What do you say to that?"

"Sounds good to me." Esme allowed Kiree to drag her along the street towards the inn where they had elected to stay, and let the halfling's conversation about dresses wash over her. Shayla followed them, still silent with vacant eyes, and Esme hoped that the elf would come out of her sombre mood on her own.

o - o - o - o - o

"Oh, look, they're just starting to send up shoots!" said Esme. She carefully pulled back the leaves of a towering fern to expose several green shoots beneath it.

Shayla peered down and nodded in confirmation. "Soon the ground will be blanketed in purple."

There was a commotion up in the trees, and Esme heard shrill cries and whistles. Turning, she glimpsed a small group of sparrows haunting a nearby sycamore. The males were airborne and fighting, flapping their wings to stay aloft as they battered against each other in their trilling voices. She smiled.

"They're fighting for mating rights," she said knowingly. Though she could not match Shayla's knowledge of wilderness lore, she had seen enough springs in the High Forest, and enough groups of the vivacious little birds, to know the reason for their aerial battles. "I just love spring," she continued, standing up and continuing down the grassy trail with Shayla in tow, "it's my favourite season. Everything is new and surprising. I remember one year, back in my Grandmother's cottage, I came out of the house one spring morning to discover one of my goats had given birth to twin kids. They were so much fun to have around, I could spend hours watching them play. And I used to love seeing the baby chicks and ducklings... all fluffy with their down feathers."

"Mm," Shayla agreed wordlessly.

Esme stopped and turned to her friend. "I know I asked you this yesterday, but are you alright? You really don't seem like yourself, of late. Are you feeling under the weather, or has something upset you?"

"No, nothing is wrong. I'm fine. Honestly."

"Shayla, I can tell a evasive answer when I hear one. Please tell me what's causing you to be so... unhappy and distracted."

The elf nodded reluctantly, and gestured to a fallen tree. They both took a seat on the trunk, and for a moment merely sat, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces, letting the gentle sounds of the nearby river and the calling birds wash over them.

"Daeghun wants a child," said Shayla.

"What?"

"It's not something new," Shayla elaborated upon seeing the surprise on her face. "He's always wanted a child, for as long as I've known him. You see, Daeghun never had a family. Even when he was living with my people, he was still an outsider. Having a family of his own, to care for and protect, and to help him feels like he _belongs_ somewhere... it's a dream he's had for a long time."

"And what about you?" Esme asked quietly. She knew full well what a child would mean. Settling down. A routine of sleepless nights and early morning feedings. It meant putting somebody else first, protecting that life with your own. No more adventuring. No more mercantile work. No more travelling around the realms learning new things. Shayla might even want to return to her people, to start a family. "How do you feel about it?"

Shayla shrugged. "Does it matter how I feel about it? It is not my dream. I am shaman. It is Daeghun's dream."

"Of course it matters how you feel about it. You can't talk about having a child like... like having a horse, or a new dress. A child needs love and constant attention."

"I know that," the elf frowned. "For us, it's an even bigger commitment. Human children are largely self-sufficient by the age of fifteen or sixteen, and can even bear children of their own. Elves mature more slowly, and although we wild elves grow up faster and less coddled than sun elves or moon elves, because of the harsh nature of our lives, it's still a good fifty years or so before an elven child can be considered mature enough to exercise their own will."

"Have you talked about all of this with Daeghun?"

"When he first brought the subject up, about ten years ago, yes. He said that he understood, and he accepted how big of a commitment a child would be. He said there was no need to rush, but that whenever I was ready, he would be too."

"And has he put any pressure on you since then?"

Shayla shook her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, unspoken pain and grief emanated from their blue depths. "When he first mentioned a child, I thought that it would make him happy. I wanted to make him happy, to give him something for sticking by me for so long. When I left my people, he came with me. Not just because he loved me, but because he hoped that one day, when I knew what it is to be shaman, I would return to my people and we could start a family together. But the longer my Journey went on, the less sure I became that I would ever become a true shaman. I didn't want Daeghun to be punished because of my failure. I stopped taking the herbs which prevent conception."

"You became pregnant," Esme said, knowing without even needing an answer.

"I lost the child early in the first stage of my pregnancy. One day it was there, a tiny life force inside me that I could feel and sense as if it was an extension of my own body. And the next day... gone. I woke feeling hollow and empty, but not knowing why. It wasn't until I passed blood, a few hours later, that I realised I had miscarried."

"Oh, Shayla, I'm so sorry." She felt tears wetting her eyes in sympathy for her friend's tragedy. Though she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around her friend and hug her, she knew that Shayla would not appreciate the gesture. Elves did not show grief as humans did. "What... happened? If you don't mind me asking. Had you been ill, or... or an accident?"

"Nothing like that," Shayla said, her own eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "I think it would have been better if I'd been ill or injured in a way that would cause me to lose my child. It would have been an answer. It would have been a finality. I simply miscarried. I don't know why. No injuries, no illness, and I hadn't eaten or drunk anything that I shouldn't. I think... I think it might have been my fault, though. Daeghun wanted a child. I had no feelings about it one way or the other. What if my child sensed that? What if my child knew that I didn't particularly want it? What if it chose to die rather than be born to a mother who might not love it?"

The tears did flow from Shayla's eyes, then, and Esme ignored their cultural differences to wrap her arms around her friend in a fierce hug. She sensed that her contact was comforting even when Shayla's cries turned to sobs which racked her entire body.

"Don't think that, even for a moment," Esme told her firmly, tears streaming from her eyes and wetting the elf's dark hair. "It's like you said, sometimes these things happen. It wasn't your fault, it really wasn't. It just wasn't time for your child to be born. You are a wonderful person, Shayla, and shaman or not, you're going to make a wonderful mother one day. I'm sure that Daeghun doesn't blame you for losing your child, so you shouldn't either."

"Daeghun doesn't know about it," Shayla said, pulling away from Esme's embrace and running the back of her hand across her wet eyes.

"You didn't tell him you were pregnant? But I thought having a child was his idea in the first place."

"Haluar told you about the history of our people, didn't he? About how we wandered for generations before driving the lycans out of the Kryptgarden Forest and settling there?" Esme nodded. "Back then, when we were wandering, it wasn't uncommon for a woman to miscarry her unborn child. Those were hard times for my people. We were persecuted by humans and other elves, hunted by orcs and ogres. We had no homes, very few ways of supporting ourselves, we were often cold and always hungry. Malnourishment took the infirm and the very young, and many women of my people struggled to bring a child to full term. Because of that, it became... almost taboo to speak of a pregnancy before it reached its second stage and became noticeable. Each child that died before it could be born was an emotional burden to my people, to be carried by the woman and sometimes her closest female relative, to protect the rest of the tribe. And even though very few women amongst my people ever miscarry now, it's a tradition that still stands. Plus, I didn't want Daeghun to worry for me or coddle me. I knew he would have wrapped me up in swaddling cloth, if he realised I was with child."

"I can't imagine how painful it's been for you, living with this secret for all of these years, blaming yourself for the loss of your child. I think it's good that you told me... though I don't think I'm exactly the right person you should have told."

"Daeghun can never know about any of this," Shayla said, her blue eyes pleading. "The truth would hurt him even more than it hurts me."

"I'll never mention any of it to another living soul for as long as I live. I promise," Esme swore.

"Thank you. And thank you for listening. I didn't bring you out here to tell you about this part of my past... I suppose it was just something that I needed to speak about at last. Something that I needed to come to terms with... or try to. And I think you have such a caring personality that it invites people to open up to you." Esme smiled at the elf's praise. "Now," said Shayla, the sorrow gone completely from her voice, replaced with her usual forthright, brisk tone, "I think we should finish our business in these woods, and get back to the inn. I'm sure the others are getting into all sorts of trouble without us to keep an eye on them. Honestly, they're worse than children, sometimes."

They stood, and Esme let Shayla take her arm and link it with hers. She had realised something, today; Lucas was not the only good actor in their group. Shayla's sadness and pain were still there, and they were something that she would have to comes to terms with over a long period of time. They were simply hidden, for now, covered by a mask through which nobody but Shayla herself could see.

o - o - o - o - o

As spring became summer, the seven companions made two trips to Silverymoon, escorting trade caravans between the two cities along the Evermoor Way and the Long Road. The village of Red Larch became a regular stopping point for them, though Esmerelle was glad to find no more drow in cages whenever they passed through the village. Triboar, Yartar and Everlund were the only other sizeable towns on the trade road between Waterdeep and Silverymoon, and Esmerelle quickly became familiar with the towns and some of their inhabitants. Wherever the caravans stopped she made a brisk trade in potions, and very soon she started making enough money that she no longer had to rely on her friends. It felt good, to be self-sufficient, to be able to take care of herself and contribute towards her own upkeep. Conscious that one day she might be forced to settle down somewhere, she invested a little of her money into the banks in Waterdeep and Silverymoon whenever she arrived in the cities, and hoped that it would be a good long time before she'd need to request it back.

Esme's first full year with her friends almost came and went, and the date would have passed her by entirely were it not for Kiree. One fine summer evening, as the companions camped beneath the stars during an escort trip to Silverymoon, the halfling produced a sponge cake with chocolate icing, and a single candle standing up from the centre.

"What's this?" Esme asked, suspicious of Kiree's grin. Everybody else crowded around to observe.

"Tradition!" Kiree replied happily. "As the newest member of the group, we celebrate you joining us until somebody new comes along. At which point it's your turn to bake the cakes. But anyway, happy one year anniversary, Esmerelle."

"Gosh, it's been a year already? Sometimes it feels like it's only been days... and sometimes it feels like I've been with you my whole life. Everything else... the temple, the High Forest... they sometimes feel like distant dreams, to me."

"I hope that's a good thing!" said Belvar.

"Of course it is. Although I do have a confession to make. I'm absolutely terrible at baking. I should probably find somebody new to join us as soon as possible, just so that you don't all have to endure my terrible cakes."

"Can't be any worse than Kiree's," said Duncan. "She's been carrying this one ever since she bought it from that shop in Waterdeep."

"I baked it myself," Kiree said, glaring at him and elbowing him in the ribs, "and I'll not hear another word about it. Now, blow out the candle, Esme."

"And don't forget to make a wish," said Lucas. He gave her a conspirational wink. "Sometimes they even come true."

Summer was not only a time of celebration for Esmerelle, but also of growth, and change. She fought her first humanoid monsters in the form of a band of orcs that had been harassing a village north-east of Yartar, near the northern edge of the High Forest. Despite her previous reservations, she found that killing the orcs was much easier than killing humans. All it took was the sight of a child's mutilated body to rouse her anger. The orcs killed villagers for food... but unnecessarily so. There were other creatures they could have killed; deer, wolves, or other, weaker monsters such as kobolds or goblins. They chose to kill innocent humans, and therefore make an enemy of humans. Esmerelle was determined to teach them a lesson.

After she had assisted her friends in dispatching the orcs, she hoped that would be the last of it. But then the nightmares started. Dark dreams of something malevolent lurking within her, something which rejoiced and revelled in every life that she took. Several nights in a row she woke shaking and sweating from her sleeping roll, terrified that something was standing over her, watching her, waiting for her dedication to Lathander to slip. She feared that the tainted blood of Bhaal which ran through her veins was trying to make its will known, but at the same time she knew such fears were unfounded. Blood was blood. It did not have a personality. There was power in it, and several dark spells could be performed with a victim's blood, but blood itself could not control a person. Otherwise, criminals would not be born to decent, hard-working folk, and the sons of murderers would themselves be murderers. It was a person's upbringing, more than their blood, which dictated their morals, and Esmerelle had been brought up to walk in the light of Lathander. It would take more than nightmares to cause her to stray.

Summer turned inexorably to autumn, and the friends found themselves once again back in Waterdeep. As the nights began to shorten and grow colder, they sequestered themselves in the common room of the inn where they were staying and crowded around a large, well-used map of western Faerûn that Daeghun brought out.

"I'd like your thoughts about where to spend the winter," he said to the group.

"Anywhere but Neverwinter," said Kiree. Her face took on a brief, thoughtful expression. "Or Amn."

"We talked about Sundabar last year, but never got around to it," said Lucas.

"Hmph," Belvar said grumpily at the bard's suggestion. "What about Baldur's Gate? It's close to CandleKeep." A gleam appeared in his eye; the same gleam that always sprang up when he thought about libraries.

"I, for one, think Silverymoon would be the best choice," said Shayla, confident, as always, that everybody else would agree with her eventually. "Sundabar isn't far from it. Lucas, and anybody else who likes to be bored, could travel there, if they wished."

"What's wrong with staying here?" Kiree shrugged. "Waterdeep has been good to us this year. Sure, there might not be as many festivals as there are in Silverymoon, but in some ways, Waterdeep is better. They have a bigger variety of taverns for a start. Plus the weather is milder here. Silverymoon gets _sooo_ cold in midwinter."

"Bah, I'm bored of Waterdeep," Duncan grumbled.

"You're just mad 'cos we won't come with you into Undermountain, and you can't find another group to join up with," Kiree teased. "Face it, fighters come ten to the dozen around here. You're just redundant. You should maybe branch out. Get some new skills."

"But think of the treasures, Kiree! We could become rich beyond our wildest dreams! And the magical artefacts, Lucas! And the wondrous tomes we might find, Belvar!"

"We could also become _dead_ beyond our wildest dreams. They don't call Halaster 'The Mad Mage' for nothing, you know."

"Is Luskan really as bad as I hear claimed?" Esme asked, pointing at the city on the map.

"Yes," came the chorused response.

"What about you, Daeghun?" asked Lucas. "What's your preference?"

"I have no preference, but where my heart goes, so go I," he said, bestowing a smile upon Shayla.

"Esme?"

"Well, if Neverwinter, Luskan and Amn are off-limits for the moment... I've never seen Baldur's Gate before," she replied. "And CandleKeep _does_ sound interesting." Belvar beamed at her.

"Hmm... Durlag's Tower isn't far from the Gate," said Duncan thoughtfully. "I hear the place is crawling with monsters, and laden with riches. Plus, no mad mages."

"But... the Flaming Fist," Kiree said, almost whining.

"I would think that such an effective local guard would be a relief, Kiree," Lucas pointed out. "They're very good at keeping the Thieves out of the city. I, for one, could be as happy in Baldur's Gate as in Sundabar. I've been to CandleKeep several times before, but never to Durlag's Tower. It could be worth looking into."

"I suppose Baldur's Gate has its charms," said Shayla reluctantly.

Daeghun nodded, then pointed on the map to a town named Daggerford, a short way further south of Waterdeep. "We'll set off after the Autumn Faire, and stock up in Daggerford. We'll spend a couple of days there to buy what we need for the journey south."

"How long will it take us to Reach Baldur's Gate?" Esme asked, looking at the long, relatively straight road named The Coast Way, which crossed the Delimbiyr River just before Daggerford, then was nestled between the empty expanse of The High Moor on its east side and the Lizard Marsh and Trollbark Forest on its west side. The road then passed by the foot of the Troll Hills, before rounding onto a floor plain and crossing the Winding Water River and continuing across the Fields of The Dead. Judging from the map, she realised that although Baldur's Gate was a port city, it was not, unlike Waterdeep, positioned directly on the coast. Instead, it was situated a short distance up the River Chionthar, before the point where the river opened up into a fertile delta.

"Three or four days to reach Daggerford," said Daeghun, folding up the map. "A couple of weeks or more to reach Baldur's Gate, depending on how often we stop."

"I can't wait to show you around the City," Kiree grinned. "The taverns, the shops, the markets... you're going to love it."

"I'm looking forward to it," she smiled at her friend. It had been months since she'd visited a new place, met new people, seen new temples... and new shops. In addition to relaxing after a long summer of escorting caravans and fighting monsters, she was looking forward to starting her _other_ work again. She had long since run out of the potions she had concocted during the previous winter, and if she could find a small space with a suitable workbench to rent in Baldur's Gate, she could begin making potions again, and experimenting with new ones. Plus, if CandleKeep was everything Belvar claimed, there was no end to the amount of knowledge she could learn from the massive library's extensive collection of tomes.

o - o - o - o - o

Five days after the end of Waterdeep's Autumn Faire, Esme found herself looking at the walled town of Daggerford from atop her horse. It was smaller than she had expected; from its size and position on the map, she thought it would be comparable in size to Everlund, but it was actually much smaller. The roofs of the houses were like a chaotic patchwork quilt; areas of grey slate were interspersed with areas of red tile, white marble and yellow thatch. Several tall buildings were prominent against the skyline, but the majority of the buildings were low.

Lucas, sitting astride his own horse, pulled up beside her and pointed at one of the taller buildings with a thatched roof. "That's the Dragonback Inn, where we'll be staying for the next night or two," he explained. "Over there is the Lady Luck Tavern, which caters more to the tastes of discerning gentlemen. Those other two buildings are the Happy Cow and the River Shining Tavern. We sometimes dine in the Happy Cow, they have a wonderful menu, but the River Shining is mediocre at best."

"What about the temples?" she asked, nodding her head to the tall ornate limestone and marble buildings.

"We don't stay in those, either," he quipped. "I jest, I jest. The one closest to us is The Harvest House, which is the temple dedicated to Chauntea. Daggerford itself is small, but it has a large farming community just outside its walls, which keep the town well supplied with food and also provide a valuable export. The temple furthest away is the Morninglow Tower. I'm sure you'll want to visit it before we leave, as there won't be another temple of Lathander before we reach Baldur's Gate." Esme shrugged. Though over the past couple of years she was slowly overcoming her fear of being recognised, she still preferred to avoid large gatherings of Lathander's faithful. "There's also a couple of shrines in the city," Lucas continued, ignoring her reticence. "One dedicated to Tempus and one to Tymora."

"And the other tall buildings I can see?"

"The largest is the Town Hall, where Duke Conan sees to the running of Daggerford. The other is Derval's Bright Blade, the local smith and arms merchant. If you were looking for a new weapon, you should definitely visit the place."

"Thanks, but I think I'm find with my current weapon," she smiled, patting the small knife in its scabbard on her belt.

Lucas tutted, and sent his horse forward. She knew that he thought she was strange, for eschewing 'proper' weapons, even though he himself made do with his short sword and a dagger. There was no way she could explain to him her aversion to having a weapon. Owning a weapon made it too easy to kill. Sometimes she even felt guilty about her knife, but that was as much for function as it was for defence. When it came down to it, she didn't feel that she even needed a weapon; her magic, both arcane and divine, and her potions, were weapon enough. She could, at will, become invisible, not by taking to the shadows like Kiree and Lucas but by casting a spell or drinking a potion. She could aid her friends by calling upon the power of Lathander, or by casting the spells that Aggie had taught her she could use the power of the elements combatively. She did not feel the need for a physical weapon, not when she had magic at her fingertips.

Her friends' weapons were as diverse as their personalities. Though Lucas owned only a short sword, a dagger and his throwing knives, she knew that he was more than proficient with a range of other weapons; she had seen him duelling long-swords with Duncan during one of their training sessions, and had observed him fighting with a stave more than once. He was as accurate with darts as he was with thrown knives, and could usually hit a target with a short-bow.

Kiree, too, had a wide repertoire. Her preference was for daggers, and she was almost completely ambidextrous, equally nimble with both hands. She also kept a supply of wickedly sharp shuriken, with which she was deadly accurate. Her aim with the short-bow was better than Lucas', and although she was loathe to use bows, claiming that keeping the strings dry was just too much of a nuisance, she could use one to great effect when the need arose.

Meanwhile, Duncan preferred larger weapons, with his choice being a long or bastard sword. He still kept the Short Sword of Quickness that Lucas had given him, but rarely used it, claiming that he needed the greater reach of a longer sword to be a better fighter. Daeghun had tried more than once to teach him how to use a bow, but Duncan lacked the patience to learn. He simply preferred to be in the thick of the fighting, and shunned missile weapons almost entirely. The only exception he made was for the crossbow, which was capable of putting a bolt right through an enemy. But such weapons were best employed for defensive purposes, and were simply to slow and cumbersome to reload during heated combat.

Likewise, Belvar enjoyed close combat too much to use missiles. His only weapon was his axe, but Esme had seen him training with flails, maces and morning stars. He seemed to prefer the heavier weapons which he could put his whole strength behind, and never bothered with swords, or weapons like daggers which required a certain degree of finesse.

Shayla, too, limited herself to a single weapon, but unlike Belvar she had access to a broad range of spells. She could control the elements far more effectively than Esme, and could call upon the spirits of a place to heal or bless or enchant. Her magical, carved staff was both a weapon and a tool, and when the situation called for it, she could use her staff defensively, to disarm an opponent or to crack open a skull through sheer force.

Daeghun's weapon of choice was the long-bow. He was an excellent marksman, capable of bringing down an orc with a single well-placed arrow. More often than not it was he who provided food when the group camped out, in the form of deer, pig or bird felled with his bow and arrows. When he couldn't use his bow he fell back to using his long-sword. He was at least as good as Duncan with the sword, but then, he'd also had a lot more time to practice.

Esme glanced around for her friends. Daeghun was in the lead, with Shayla following several paces behind, looking up at Lucas who was riding beside her and speaking quietly. Belvar was a short distance behind her own horse, humming some wordless dwarven song, and when she turned in her saddle she saw Duncan on his horse, with Kiree in front of him in the saddle. The halfling was cleaning her fingernails with one of her shuriken, and looked thoroughly bored. With a smile, Esme turned back to look at the approaching town. Perhaps she _would_ visit the temple of Lathander before leaving Daggerford. It had been some time since she had thanked the Morninglord for sending her such wonderful friends.

o - o - o - o - o

Esme had just finished packing her clean clothes into the chest of drawers beside her bed when there was a knock on the bedroom door. It opened, and Kiree stuck her head around it, checking that Esme was decently dressed before throwing the door open completely.

"You're the slowest unpacker _ever_," Kiree sighed. "Duncan already took the horses to be reshod, Daeghun and Belvar left, like, an _hour_ ago to visit Derval's Bright Blade, and Lucas is already downstairs plying his trade."

"Daeghun's looking for a new weapon?" That was a surprise, since he'd always been content with his hand-crafted longbow and his plain long-sword.

"Naw," Kiree replied. She sat on the edge of the bed and took out a shuriken, flipping it deftly between her fingers over each knuckle. "He just went to get some more arrows. Some special arrows."

"Special arrows?"

"Yeah, you know... fire, acid. In a week or so we'll be passing the Trollbark Forest and the Troll Hills. They're not named that for fun, y'know."

"I remember now," she smiled. "Fire and acid kill trolls. Aggie told me once, but since I'd never seen any trolls, I forgot. What else kills them?"

"Can we talk about killing later?" Kiree stood up and slipped the shuriken back inside her coat. "Word in the common room is that there's some sort of sale on at the market. We have to get there before everything is sold."

"You go on ahead," said Esme, reaching for her outdoor coat and her coin purse. "I'll catch up with you. I need to visit the temple of the Morninglord."

"Right now? You can't do the whole religious thing later? After the sale ends?"

"Sorry, but I'm overdue a good prayer session. I won't be long though, I promise."

"Alright," Kiree sighed, and sauntered towards the door. "But I can't promise there will be anything left by the time you get there."

When she was alone again, Esme fastened up her coat and pulled on her sturdy boots. The thick pants she wore would keep out the worst of the late-autumn chill, and beneath her coat she wore a long-sleeved green tunic embroidered with petal patterns in gold thread. She slipped her coin purse into the inside pocket of her coat, locked her door behind her and made her way down to the common room.

She hadn't managed to take a good look at the room earlier. Upon her arrival she had been introduced to the proprietor, a dwarf named Karum Firebelly, and then bustled upstairs to change and unpack. Now, as she descended the stairs, she was struck by how jovial the mood seemed. In one corner of the room, Lucas sat on a stool, playing his flute, surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. He didn't even open his eyes as Esmerelle entered the room, but she would have been very surprised if he didn't know she was there. Sometimes he seemed to know what was happening even when he couldn't see or hear.

In the far corner of the room were a group of a dozen knights in armour, but she ignored them as best she could. She doubted that any of the knights would be from the same group of Helmites she had encountered in Red Larch the year before, but it never hurt to be cautious. It was something Lucas had drummed into her time and time again. _'I don't want you to end up like Duncan,'_ he'd told her, _'thinking with your muscles instead of your head. Stay sharp and alert, and you'll stay alive. Like me.' _The rest of the crowd seemed to be locals, farmers if their garb was any indication, though she did catch sight of one or two men who looked like they knew how to fight, and had the scars to prove it. Probably adventurers or mercenaries, she decided.

On her way to the door, her attention was caught by Firebelly gesturing to her. "Esmerelle!" he shouted over the din of the crowd, "come over here for a moment, lassie." She did as commanded, and took a seat on one of the stools at the bar. "Lucas tells me you're a good friend of his," the old dwarf said.

"That's right. We've been through a lot together. I owe him my life, possibly more than once."

"It just so happens that I've been working on a new brew, and I'd like you to try it."

"I don't know... I was just on my way out to the temple to pray."

"Ach, the gods can wait for a few moments," he said with a wink, and turned away to grab a glass and a bottle of yellow liquid. He poured a small measure of the liquid into the glass and set it on the bar in front of her. "And did I forget to mention? Every new patron here gets their first drink on the house. And when you've tasted it, see if you can tell me what's in it."

She glanced at the glass skeptically, then picked it up and swirled it around. Immediately, the liquid began to turn from yellow to orange, and then to a bright red. It was such a surprise that she almost dropped the glass, and Firebelly let out a booming laugh at the expression on her face.

"I call it Firebelly's Firewine," he explained. "It reacts to the air, changing colour like the flames of a fire. Have a taste."

Cautiously, she sipped the liquid, swilled it around in her mouth for a moment, then swallowed. For several seconds afterwards she struggled to see anything as tears flooded her eyes. "Potent," she managed to gasp at last.

"Aye, that it is. I haven't decided yet whether I want to sell it as a drink or a weapon. I'm thinking it could do some damage when set alight and hurled at your enemies. Maybe I could ask the knights to try it out on their campaign for me."

"What are the knights here for?" she asked as she wiped her burning eyes.

"Just passing through. They're a delegation from various temples out of Waterdeep, on their way to investigate claims of increased orc attacks out of the Misty Forest. Personally, I reckon the orcs have a base somewhere up on the High Moor. Normally the Flaming Fist would deal with orcish threats in this region, but we haven't seen a single one of those guys in weeks. I've heard whispered tales of problems in Baldur's Gate, though. Trade problems, and something about an iron shortage. Some people claim there's wizardry involved... me, I think it's orcs. Every couple of hundred years they band together and try to make a concentrated effort at striking towns and cities across the Northern realms and the Heartlands."

"Do you think travel is going to become dangerous?"

"No more or less dangerous than usual," he shrugged. "But then, I gave up my travelling days long ago. This is my home now, and if the orcs come, I'll defend it with my life, but I'm not marching off to do glorious battle. That sort of thing is for you young folks."

"I have no desire to see battle either," she pointed out.

"Good. Glad to see you've got a sensible head on your shoulders. Now, you just sit there for a moment and I'll go and fetch you a glass of milk. It'll stop the burning pain in your stomach."

Firebelly disappeared, thankfully taking the half-empty glass of Firewine with him, and returned with a glass of goats milk, which Esme sipped gratefully. When the dwarf wandered across to the other end of the bar to serve a newly arrived group of locals, she sat back and let the voices in the room wash over her. Behind her and to her right, a group of farmers were discussing how well the recent harvest had gone, and what sort of entertainment there might be available for the Harvest Fair. Esme hoped Lucas wasn't listening to them; it would be just like him to decide to stay for the Fair, so that he could play to a large audience.

From somewhere else behind her, another group of men, whom she had originally thought to be farmers, were telling tales about the size of fish caught in their nets over the years. So, not farmers, but fishermen. She should have realised that with Daggerford being located on a meandering bend of the Delimbiyr river, fishing would be an important part of these peoples' lives. One of the men in the group was trying to maintain that he'd caught the biggest trout ever seen, but the others, it seemed, didn't believe him, especially when it turned out that the fish had gotten away in the end.

Behind and to her left, the knights were becoming a little more boisterous. Two of them were trying to coax a third into having a glass of wine, whilst he maintained that drinking before dark was a terrible sin.

A piercing laugh made Esmerelle freeze, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Don't be so bloody pious!"

That laugh... that voice... Esme would have recognised it anywhere. But it couldn't be. Not here. Not now. Not after all this time. Feeling dizzy and faint, she gripped her glass of milk with both hands and tried to remember to breathe. The air tasted cool and refreshing, but it turned her dizziness to nausea. Several seconds later, Firebelly reappeared in front of her with a concerned look on his face.

"You look terrible," he said, resting one hand on her arm. "Are you ill? I hope my wine didn't poison you... I was very careful to make it safe for humans to drink!"

"No, no," she managed to say at last, though the room was spinning in a most disconcerting manner, "I'm fine. Really. Just not used to drinking very much on an empty stomach."

"Do you want me to fetch Lucas for you?"

"No, I'll be fine after I've finished the milk. Thank you very much. But if it's not too much trouble, please could I ask for something to eat? A bowl of broth and a crust of bread, perhaps?"

"Of course, of course, it's the very least I can do. You just wait here and finish your milk. It's good for building healthy teeth and bones. I'll be back shortly with your food."

Firebelly disappeared into the kitchen, and Esme took a deep, steadying breath. Some of the nights were still talking, but she couldn't hear the woman's voice... Aliya's voice... amongst them. Slowly, because the room was still spinning a little, she turned in her stool to watch the knights from the corner of her eye. Wearing their shiny armour, they seemed to almost blend into each other, and she struggled to make out individuals. Pretending to focus on her glass of milk, she focused once more on their conversation.

"That you drink at all is a sin in the eyes of Tyr," said one of the knights, a fairly young man with dark blond hair.

"That's just what they want you to think," said another man. This one had reddish hair, which almost matched the red of the cloak at his back. One of the knights of Lathander, Esme knew. "In reality, once you reach the higher ranks it's all about the booze and the parties. I even hear there's an occasional orgy."

"There are no orgies," said the Tyrran levelly. "Or booze or parties."

"Sounds boring to me," the red-haired man laughed.

"Please do not antagonise people, Taren," sighed another knight.

"Ooh, are the ever-watchful eyes of Helm watching me right now, judging me for being a naughty boy?"

"Probably not, but we have to work together peacefully during this campaign if we want to succeed in our goal."

"Bah, we'll succeed. Have a little faith."

"I'll drink to that," said another of the knights of Lathander.

"Do we _really_ have to stay here?" asked the Tyrran. "I'm sure the temple of Chauntea would put us up for the night, if we asked politely and promised not to make any noise."

"It's just for one night, Leon," said the woman amongst them. If there was any doubt left in Esme's mind that the woman was her old friend Ali, that doubt fled as soon as the woman spoke again. "Just while we wait for Torm's lot to get here. Besides, it's nearly Harvest Fair, the Chaunteans are far too busy with their autumn rituals to the Goddess to be putting up with the likes of us camping in their hallways. And before you suggest it, the temple of Lathander is too small. Now, you boys wait here, and I'll be back in a few moments."

Esme heard the sound of chairs being pushed back. "Is there anything I can help you with, my lady?" she heard the Tyrran say.

"Sure. You can make sure the out-house door stays closed whilst I'm using it, if you like." Ali laughed at the look of horror on the young knight's face, and rapped her knuckles on his breastplate. "You sit down. There's a good boy."

Ali walked through the common room without even glancing at Esme, and left through the front door. For what felt like an eternity, Esme warred with her own mind. Ali hadn't seen her, or didn't recognise her. She was safe. She wasn't in any danger. All she had to do was stay out of sight for the next day, and all would be well. She could go up to her room, claim she was feeling unsettled... or she could opt to stay in one of the other inns. All she had to do was come up with a convincing argument for her friends. Or perhaps she could convince Kiree to stay out all night with her... though judging by the size of Daggerford and the state of its houses, shops and streets, it wasn't exactly an affluent place with a thriving nightlife.

But if she did that, she might never again get the chance to speak to, or even see, her friend. It had been seven years since she had run away. Seven years of living with the guilt of hurting those she had left behind, especially the girl who had been her closest friend. Seven years of wondering, of having unanswered questions, of torturing herself with thoughts of 'what if'. Here was a chance to speak to Ali at last, alone, away from the prying eyes of the priests from the temple where they had both been raised. Perhaps Lathander had even arranged it so that both women would be in this place at the same time, so she could have this one chance to make things right and find the answers she had so desperately craved.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she left the stool and followed her old friend out of the door. Keeping several paces behind, she followed her to the rear of the building, towards several small wooden structures. Their smell, more than anything else, told Esme that these were the privies. Ali approached one of them, raised her hand, but then spun around on the spot, gripping a morning-star. Esme had seen enough combat to know that her friend could use the weapon she held so calmly.

"I don't appreciate being followed," Ali said, her face calm despite the tightly controlled anger in her voice. "If you're looking for handouts, the churches are giving to the homeless most evenings. If you're looking for an easy mark, you'd be better off walking away now. Even if I had anything worth stealing, you'd not find it simple to take."

Esme stared at her friend. Ali still didn't recognise her! Then she took a moment to look, to _really_ look, at Ali. Her long blonde hair had sun-kissed highlights of white, had been plaited behind her head. The armour she wore was not plate, like that of most of the knights, but a silvery coat of chainmail which jingled as she moved. Her hazel-brown eyes were framed with dark lashes, and her cheekbones were high and defined. The roundness of youth had been burnt from her face and her body; though she still resembled the girl Esmerelle had once known, Esme quickly realised that this _wasn't_ the girl she had known. Ali was a young woman now, nineteen by her own reckoning and still almost a head taller than Esme herself. Were it not for the voice, and the laugh, Esme might not even have recognised her friend by sight. And if the changes in Ali were this great, how great were the changes in Esme, that Ali did not recognise her?

"Like I'd steal from a smelly fisher-girl," Esme said.

The colour drained from Ali's face and the morning-star dropped from her limp hands, clanging loudly on the ground. Her hazel eyes were wide, and though her mouth opened and closed a few times, no sound came out.

"I'm sorry," Esme said. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I... I knew it..." Ali managed to stammer at last. "I knew you weren't dead. Every night, when it wasn't cloudy, I'd look out of my window, up at the stars, and I knew you'd be looking at them too, just like we did when we were children."

"We used to climb up onto the roof of the acolyte halls, and lie on our backs, inventing our own constellations and giving them funny names." Esme's voice was barely more than a whisper as she recalled the half-forgotten memory. "My favourite was The Dancing Lion. Yours was... The Angry Crab."

The memory of that evening, when she had laughed at the silliness of her friend's constellation name, washed over her, and suddenly she _was_ ten years old again, fearlessly scaling the drainpipe of the building, lying on her back on the cold roof tiles, pointing out groups of stars, giggling with her best friend as they came up with the silliest names they could imagine. She couldn't hold back the tears that came into her eyes.

"I have been looking, Ali," she said, feeling warm tears roll down her cheeks. "I'd forgotten the names that we made, but I have been looking."

"Lathander's mercy, Esmerelle. I missed you so much after you left."

Ali took a step forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Esme, who returned the gesture. The touch, the contact with somebody from her past, somebody she had thought lost, was almost too much for her to bear. She pulled away before she could break down sobbing; she didn't want her friend to see her blubbering like a child. Not now. Not when they had so much to talk about. But when she looked again at Ali, she saw that her friend's eyes were not exactly dry either.

"I'm sorry, Ali," Esme said. Though it seemed like a futile gesture, she bent down and picked up her friend's weapon - which was surprisingly heavy! - brushed a couple of dry leaves off it, and handed it back. "I'm sorry for everything I put you through. Do you know, now, why I had to leave."

Ali nodded. Taking her weapon, she put it back in its holder on her belt, and her chainmail jingled in response to her movement. "The priests told us. A week or so after you left, they told us what you were. They told us that you'd run away and probably died, but that if you came back, if you spoke to any of us, we had to tell them immediately."

"The priests told _all_ of you? _All_ the acolytes?" It seemed a strange thing to do. Why not just tell them that Esmerelle was a runaway? Did they hope to instill fear and hatred of her in them? Did they want to make sure that if she ever came back, she wouldn't be accepted by the other children?

Ali nodded again, and turned away for a moment. "They told us, right before they tested us."

"'Tested' you?" A feeling of unease crept into her stomach. This had never been part of her dreams, or her vision quest, or even her wakened imaginings.

"They wanted to be sure you hadn't 'tainted' any of us with evil," Ali said darkly. When she turned back around to face Esme, her eyes looked haunted and empty. "It was Albur's idea. A lot of the priests were opposed to it. Eldon went ballistic when he found out. Wouldn't have anything to do with any of it. But Albur... part of me thinks that man wasn't right in the head."

"Ali, I'm so sorry for what you went through because of me. You and all the other acolytes. I didn't know anything like that would happen. And I'm sorry for any punishment they gave you for lying to them. I wish I could make things right." She put her hand on her friend's arm, but Ali pulled away.

"It's not your fault, Esme. You did what you had to do. In your position, I would have done the same. I understand, and I forgive you. By Lathander's light, there's nothing to forgive. They would have killed you if you'd stayed. Albur would have seen to it. I don't know what you did to him, but he hated you."

"I never did anything to him," she said, feeling more confused than ever. She knew that Albur hadn't liked her, but to have _hated_ her? Priests of Lathander were supposed to reserve their hatred for the undead. Not for the living. Not for children. "Ali, is there somewhere that we can go, to talk alone for a while?"

Ali looked at the back door of the tavern, hesitated, then shook her head. "If I don't return soon, my friends will come looking for me. Or that bloody Tyrran will get all over-protective and come hoping to save me from the dreaded privy monster, or something." She took a step forward, and lay one hand on Esme's shoulder. "It's not safe for you here, Esmerelle. I'm not the only one here from the temple. Two of the knights with me are Wentworth and Benson. You remember them, from our days as acolytes?" Esme nodded. Wentworth had been a tall boy, broad with something of a pot-belly. Benson had been a good-looking lad that many of the female acolytes took a liking to. When they weren't drooling over Eldon, of course. "I know that you're a good person, and that you wouldn't hurt a soul. But if they saw you... they'd clap you in irons and go running to check if the gallows was free."

"They'd do that to me?" Esme asked, horrified at the thought of the two boys being so... cruel. "Just because of what Albur and the other priests told them?"

Ali gave her a look of pity. "They resented you, Esmerelle. All the other acolytes did. You got to live in a house, with a priest. You got to wake up and eat your meals whenever you felt like it. Your life wasn't regimented. It didn't involve chores as menial as cooking and cleaning."

"But... that's not true! I woke up for morning prayers with everybody else. I ate when Eldon ate, not a moment before, and he made sure we ate plainly, like the rest of the acolytes. And of _course_ I did chores. Once every tenday I scrubbed the house from top to bottom. You _saw me_ doing it."

"I know you did. I know that you worked as hard as any other acolyte. In fact, I know that you worked harder. You had to. Eldon always pushed you to do more, to learn faster, to be better. He had higher expectations of you because you lived with him, and you needed to show that you _deserved_ to live with him, that you had earned the right to be treated differently.

"But don't you see? That's exactly why the others resented you. Because you _were_ treated differently. In their minds, you were living a privileged life. You ate what you wanted, when you wanted. You didn't have to pray upon waking or before climbing into bed. Eldon made sure you had the best of everything; food, robes, shoes, blankets. We were all orphans, Esmerelle, but you were the only one to be given a father, and none them knew why, until after you ran away. They told themselves that every night before bed, Eldon would tell you bedtime stories, or give you important information about the church of Lathander that nobody else was getting. They believed that every morning, you were brought a cup of warm milk and honey and allowed to lounge around in bed. It was special treatment, but they didn't know why you were special. They tried to be special, too. They competed amongst themselves to become the best. They worked hard at their chores, they painstakingly said their prayers. When we worked in the gardens they tried to be the best at digging, at weeding, at planting. They hoped that one day, one of the priests would see how hard they worked, how good and dutiful they were, and that that priest would take them home, to live in a house, to lie in bed and be brought a warm cup of milk and honey every morning. They'd lie in bed at nights, when we were supposed to be sleeping, talking about which priests they'd like to live with, and how wonderful their lives would be in a real house, with somebody to be their family."

Ali's voice, becoming thicker and more choked as she spoke, eventually stopped altogether, and she turned away to wipe her eyes.

"Do you know what it's like, Esme? Do you know what it's like to try to be the best, to pray every night that you will be picked, that somebody will come along and tell you that you're special? Have you ever had to live with daily disappointment over imagined rejection? Can you imagine how bad it is, to grow up thinking that you aren't special? That you're not good enough? It was difficult enough for me, and I _knew_ that you weren't getting special treatment. I knew that you worked hard, harder than any of us, and that although Eldon cared for you, he didn't coddle you. As bad as it was for me, it was a hundred times worse for the others, because they actually believed that they had a chance to have what you had. If only they could be good enough.

"And when you left, they realised at last why you were given 'special' treatment. You weren't being treated favourably. You were being watched, in case you became twisted and evil. You were being monitored, in case Bhaal tried to return. Suddenly, their childhood hopes and dreams were foolish. There had never been any possibility of them being allowed to live in a house with a priest, because none of them were Bhaalspawn. And because their hopes and dreams were foolish, they themselves were foolish. It's sick, Esme. It's sick and it's wrong, how the acolytes were made to feel."

"I'm sorry," Esme said at last. Her friend's outburst had been so unexpected. She'd truly had no idea how much pain her presence had caused those around her. "I didn't know how they felt. I didn't see. How could I not have seen how much they resented me?"

"Because you don't think like that, Esme. You saw no badness in others because there was no badness in your soul. You had no anger, no jealousy, no greed. You had what you had, and you were grateful for it all. The rest of us... we had what we had, but we saw there could be more. Our greed for what you had became jealousy, and when that jealousy went unnoticed, it became anger, which made the greed all the stronger."

"Even you? Did you resent me, even a little?" Esme asked, not wanting an answer but needing to know.

"Sometimes," Ali shrugged. "But only in the darkest moments of night, when I would lie awake in my bed and remember the house I used to live in with my father, before he died. Most of the acolytes lost their parents young, and couldn't remember them. It made their anger worse. But I could remember my papa, and I still can. The others wanted a father, but I'd already had one, and I didn't want anyone to replace him."

"It would have been better for everyone if I'd died during the siege of Bhaal's temple. If I'd never been taken back to the temple of Lathander."

"What's done is done, Esme. But if we stay here much longer, you may get your wish. You can't let Benson and Wentworth see you. The others with us... a couple of Tyrrans and Helmites... they wouldn't think twice about hanging... one of the Children."

"Wait, Ali, there's something I need to know." She waited for her friend to nod. "Eldon. After I left... what happened to him? Did he blame himself?"

Ali hesitated, and when she finally spoke, there was sympathy in her voice, as well as her eyes. "After you left, Eldon was like a broken man. He spent months looking for you. He sent out messengers to the nearby villages and towns, asking if anybody had seen you. Any report of a strange, dark-haired blue-eyed girl would have him riding out to see if it was you. He kept hoping, kept searching... and his hope kept him going for a full year. But a year to the day when you ran away, it was as if something just switched off inside him.

"No more messages arrived, after that. He became an empty shell. He stopped caring about anything. He no longer taught the acolytes, never joined the other priests and knights when they went on campaigns. He tried to fill the shell with anger. For a very long time, he was angry at everybody. Sarris, Albur, the other priests, but most of all himself. The anger sustained him for several years, but I don't think it could fill the emptiness." Esme barely even noticed the fresh tears trickling down her cheeks at her friend's recounting. "He started drinking, whether to quiet the anger or drown his sorrows and his guilt, I do not know. I left the temple almost two years ago, after my training was complete. By that time, Eldon was seen as something of an embarrassment. An example of how a good priest can go over the edge if he's not in control of himself. The acolytes would whisper behind his back, making up stories of what had driven him to drinking throughout the daylight hours. Just before I left, there was talk of sending him away somewhere, to a church in some backwater village far away where he could spend the rest of his days drinking amongst people who wouldn't care."

"I ruined his life," said Esme, breaking into sobs. She felt an arm wrapped around her shoulders, but it didn't help. Not anymore.

"You didn't ruin his life, Esme. He ruined his own life. He made a terrible mistake. Not the drinking. Not the anger... his mistake was in loving you too much. He saved you, named you, took you home and raised you. He took care of you and taught you and needed no company but yours. He cared too much for you, and isolated himself from others. And when you ran away, instead of turning to others for help, he shut himself off even more. Nobody is to blame for Eldon's self-destruction - not you, not Albur, not Sarris, not Lathander - nobody but Eldon himself."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Esme," said Ali, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to meet her eyes, "I really need to use the out-house now. When I left the temple, I came back here to the church of Lathander because Daggerford is my home. It's where I lived with my father, before he died. But I'm not that smelly fisher-girl anymore. I'm a cleric of Lathander, and I have responsibilities. It would be best if you left Daggerford. Right now. And never came back."

Esme nodded and turned. Ali was not Ali anymore. She was Aliya, Priest of Lathander. She wasn't the little girl who liked greedily eating sour apples and turned everything into a joke. And Esme was not the acolyte she had been, either. She was a woman, now, with her own life, her own friends, and her own desires. Ali and Esme had been best friends, but Aliya and Esmerelle were no longer compatible.

"Esme?" She turned to look at her friend, who was standing halfway in the out-house with the door open. The fading sun made her blonde hair look orange, like the colour of Firewine. "Every time I look at the stars and see The Dancing Lion, I'll think of you, and know that you're looking at the stars with me."

"Goodbye, Ali," she replied, and turned back towards the inn.


	28. Family Part 2

Chapter 28.

Family - Part II

_...When he's done, before the applause, we observe_

_the flowers' silence. A thrush sings_

_and the daffodils are aflame."_ - Gillian Clarke

o - o - o - o - o

Before she re-entered the Dragonback Inn, Esme pulled up her hood to obscure her features, not only to hide her identity, but also her puffy, tear-stained face. Nothing drew attention like a woman upset, and Lucas was still in the common room... and she had no idea where Shayla might be. Right now, she could not afford any delays. She knew what must be done. She had to leave as quickly as possible and leave a message with Master Firebelly on her way out, to let her friends know that she had gone on ahead without them.

The common room was exactly the same as she had left it, as if no time had passed whilst she had been gone. Lucas was still playing his flute, the locals still discussed their own mundane affairs, and the knights were still discussing the merits, or sins, of alcohol. Esme ignored them all. She didn't run, but she walked hastily towards the stairs, and when she reached the top of the staircase she fumbled in her pocket for her key, her hand shaking with fear and adrenaline and sorrow. When at last she was able to open the lock, she flung her door open and pulled out her empty pack from beneath the bed. Into it went the shirts and trousers and undergarments which had been unpacked less than an hour ago. They were followed by two empty potion bottles and her prayerbook, along with her jingling coin purse. Her toothbrush and bar of soap went into separate pockets, her hairbrush completed the main pile, and her sleeping roll stacked neatly on top. It was not her usual methodical packing; everything had been shoved haphazardly in without care for creasing, but it would suffice.

She turned with her pack in hand, and jumped in fright at the sight of Lucas standing in her doorway. He eyed the pack in her hand with a raised eyebrow, and didn't seem at all surprised by her teary eyes and puffy face.

"Now that's the fastest pack-up I've ever seen," he remarked. "I don't know what Kiree was talking about. But you don't appear to have any food with you, nor a tent. Do I take it you're relocating to an alternative venue?"

"I have to leave Daggerford," she said, approaching him. "Please move out of my way."

"Esmerelle, you're upset. I can see you've been crying. Why don't you tell me about whatever's bothering you, and we'll see if we can work our way through it?"

"I can't," she said, closing her eyes and wishing that, for once, he would stop being such a stubborn old man. "Move."

"Or you'll make me?" he asked, his lips pulling back briefly in amusement.

"No. I'll scream."

"And that will do _what_, exactly?"

"To you, nothing. But I bet the half-dozen knights downstairs are just itching to save a damsel in distress. I'll tell them you were trying to force yourself on me. Maybe they'll believe you, eventually, but by the time they do I'll be halfway to anywhere else and you'll have nobody but yourself to blame for not stepping aside."

"Hmm... very good. Very good indeed," he said, curling one end of his moustache around his finger. "Quite cunning, and rather effective. Very well." He stepped aside, and she passed him without word.

Descending the stairs two at a time, she barely even noticed when he followed her. When she reached the bar, she gave the key to her room to Firebelly, thanked him for the wine, and made her way promptly to the door.

"When my friends return," Lucas told the dwarf, "tell them we've gone on ahead, and to catch us up when they are able. Oh, and ask them to pack up my things and bring them along."

"You and your friends..." said Firebelly thoughtfully, "...you're strange 'uns."

"Don't I know it."

If there was further conversation, it was lost to Esmerelle as she departed the inn. Outside, the sun was just beginning to kiss the horizon. She reckoned she could walk three or four miles before she would have to stop. But three or four miles was enough. All she needed to do was get out of Daggerford and further down the road. Then she could cut into the wilderness a little and find a place to camp. It didn't matter than she had no tent, no food and only her sleeping roll. She would survive, for one night, without food or shelter. Besides, it was autumn, the season of plenty. Foraging for berries and nuts was familiar, and if she was lucky she might find a stream, to fill her empty water bottle and try spearing fish. She was confident. She was self-sufficient.

She was lost.

Daggerford was a town she had never visited before. Had she been in Waterdeep, or Silverymoon, or Everlund, she could have navigated her way around blindfolded. But here, everything was too new, too different. It was a river-town, not a sea-town, so it didn't smell like Waterdeep. She couldn't discern her way by sea-breeze. It lacked the hilly and mountainous terrain of Silverymoon and Everlund, so navigating by the setting sun and the sky-line wouldn't be as easy. She was momentarily conscious of Lucas behind her, but she knew that he would be of no assistance. He was following her, and would do so for as long as he pleased, but he wasn't _with_ her. He hadn't been invited, and she had spurned his offer of help, therefore he would offer none.

Closing her eyes, she brought up the image of Daggerford as she had seen it from the road. At the same time, she recalled Lucas' words. _The tall church building closest to us is the temple of Chauntea. The furthest is the temple of Lathander._ The temple of Chauntea had been almost beside the Waterdeep-road gate. Which meant that the temple of Lathander was probably beside the Baldur's Gate side of the road. Temples were frequently located along main roads, because that was where the most foot-traffic was.

Looking up, she located the tall, marble spire that topped the temple to Lathander, and made her way roughly towards it. Working on the premise that the largest road in a town was the main road, which usually led into and out of the town, and that smaller roads inevitably joined up with larger roads, she soon found herself standing outside the temple she sought. There would be no time for prayers, today. She could not risk being in Daggerford for even a moment longer. She could not risk being seen, being recognised. She continued on the road, through the south-bound gate, and out of the town.

"Don't you want your horse?" Lucas asked as he followed her along the paved, well-travelled road.

"Duncan will bring it," she replied without turning. "Don't you want yours?"

"Duncan will bring it."

She nodded, and walked. Every step took her away from the city, closer to Baldur's Gate, parallel to the setting sun. Every step took her away from danger, away from the people who would hurt her... away from her friends old and new.

The revelation of the acolytes' hostility towards her had shocked her, at first, but the more she thought about it, the more she could understand it. The other children in the temple had always had a luke-warm relationship with her. They hadn't invited her to play games with them, or sit with them during prayer. Were it not for Ali, her time in the temple would likely have been extremely lonely. At the time, she had merely thought that the other children didn't _want_ to be too friendly with her, that they thought she might tell on them for bad behaviour to her 'father'. She had never even considered that they resented her. Was she truly so blind that she could not see what was in front of her face?

"Am I naïve?" she asked aloud.

"A little," said Lucas.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily. You think the best of others because you want them to think the best of you. You don't doubt that anybody believes in your sincerity and integrity, so you believe in theirs."

She continued walking in silence. Eldon was suffering because of her. If he was even still alive... but the alternative was too painful to consider, so she had to believe that he was still out there, somewhere, still believing in Lathander, still loving her despite the fact that he believed her to be dead. _He became an empty shell. He stopped caring about anything_. How could that be? How could her wonderful, caring father have stopped caring about anything else but her? Yes, she had been a big part of his life since he had rescued her from the temple of Bhaal, but she had not been his _entire_ life... had she?

Thinking back, she could remember him teaching the acolytes, watching over them as they went about their chores, leading them in prayer, but he had always turned down the opportunity to go on campaigns with the other knights and priests, claiming that his responsibilities to the acolytes, the next generation of priests, came first. Was that true? Or did he stay behind because of _her_? Did he avoid socialising with the other priests because of _her_?

He had been nineteen when he had rescued her and taken her in, a little younger than she was now. Around the same age as Ali, in fact. Yet Esme herself felt as if she had only just begun her life. She didn't know how she fit in, in the world, or where her place was, or where she wanted to eventually go. Was that how Eldon had felt? Did he resent being burdened with a child that was not his, at such a young age? A child that was the offspring of the God of Murder, even if he hadn't known it at the time?

But the things she had heard seemed to suggest that he didn't resent her presence. She had some vague memory of being brought back to the temple of Lathander. She could dimly recall a meeting between the senior priests - or at least, those left, following the conscription during the Godswar - and she recalled Eldon asking that she be allowed to remain with him, so that he could instruct her and watch her. The senior priests hadn't been enamoured with the idea, but they were facing catastrophe; they were powerless unless they were in close proximity to their god, who had recently been made mortal. Their leaders had gone off to do battle, to help search for the Tablets of Fate, to help keep the legions of chaos and evil in check. The senior priests had done what they thought best. They had allowed Eldon to do as he wished. They had turned a blind eye, assuming that when their leaders returned, more affirmative action would be taken.

Most of the leaders had not returned. The Time of Troubles had taken its toll on everybody. Magic had stopped working. Healing spells were useless. Gods had been slain, and new Gods arisen out of the ashes and fire-bleached bones of disaster. When Sarris and the others had returned from aiding their Lord, they did not bother to make changes. The status quo remained, and Esme remained with Eldon, to be brought up, dragged up or raised as he saw fit. It must have been a huge responsibility for such a young man. In his place, could she have done a better job?

When darkness fell and Esmerelle could barely see where she was going, she turned off the road and began to feel her way into the undergrowth, searching for a place to bed down for the night. A sudden, harsh white light illuminated the area, and she narrowed her eyes to protect her delicate vision. Lucas held out his hand, and above it hovered a ball of light.

"Thanks," she offered, before turning back to the trees and shrubs. They eventually parted before her, revealing a small clearing, which looked to have been made by deer browsing upon the tender young trees. Esme removed her sleeping roll from her pack, and shook it out, laying it out flat on the ground. It would not rain tonight; the sky was clear and cloudless, the light of Selûne bathing the whole area in silver rays. She felt a pang of regret that she had left Daggerford so quickly, and worried for a moment about worrying her friends. She hoped that they would catch up to her, but did not give voice to her hopes. If she wanted to be found, she should not have left Daggerford with barely a word. She had no right to complain now.

"Daeghun will find us," Lucas said, seeming to read her mind.

"How?"

"I don't know. But he will. It's an elven thing. Best not to question it."

She didn't reply, but simply settled down into her sleeping roll. Lucas was seated on the grassy knoll beside her, but she didn't insult him by asking if he wanted to share her blanket. He was a seasoned adventurer, well used to the hardships of travel. If he'd thought he might need a sleeping roll, he would have brought his own with him. To suggest otherwise would be to insult his intelligence, and he considered himself a _very_ intelligent man.

When the orb of light died, she didn't suggest lighting a fire. The night was still warm enough to sleep without one, and she had nothing that needed cooking. So instead, she merely closed her eyes and let her tiredness and grief overcome her. She did not have to wait long to find sleep.

o - o - o - o - o

When Esme awoke it was to the sound of muted whispers. Slowly she opened her eyes, and found herself looking up at Shayla, Lucas and Daeghun, who were seated nearby on the bare ground. Of Duncan, Kiree and Belvar there was no sign, but the horses were hobbled nearby, and since neither Shayla nor Daeghun cared for horses, that meant either Kiree or Duncan was close.

Shayla was the first to notice her wake, and she smiled down at Esme. "I hope you slept well," she said.

"I did, thank you," Esme replied, sitting up and covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned widely.

"Lucas tells us that you felt the need to leave Daggerford urgently," said Daeghun, "but he will not tell us why."

"I got some bad news and had to leave right away," she shrugged. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have left like that, and worried you all, but I had no choice. But I... ah... I think we should add Daggerford to our list of 'avoidable places' for now."

"Esmerelle," said Daeghun, crouching on the ground in front of her, "if you are in any sort of trouble, you can tell us. We will help you through it, if we can, or avoid it, if we can't."

She looked up at the trio, and knew that he spoke for all of them. But there were some things she was not yet ready to discuss, and some things she was still coming to terms with herself. How could she tell them that she was Bhaalspawn, that she might possibly be hunted for it, that one day the taint of Bhaal's blood might overcome her, when she herself barely understood what it meant?

"Thank you," she said, trying to express her gratitude with her eyes as well as her voice. "I'm grateful to all of you, for all you've done for me. I really am. And I hope that one day I'll be able to tell you everything that you deserve to know. But for now... there's still a lot that I'm trying to figure out for myself. For the moment, I really need to be alone with my thoughts. I hope you can understand."

"Of course," said Daeghun with a nod. He stood and gestured towards the road. "Kiree has gone hunting, though I doubt her chances of success. Duncan is watching the road north of us, from Daggerford, and Belvar is wandering ahead, to scout the road towards Baldur's Gate. Once Kiree returns we should get moving; the longer we tarry here, the longer it will take us to reach our destination."

Esme nodded, and began packing up her sleeping roll. As she did so, she realised something which disturbed her a little. She knew very little about Daeghun. What little she did know was from listening to the others, particularly Shayla, talk about him. He never talked about himself, never volunteered information about himself. In some ways, he was an invisible member of the group; he was there, but in the same way that the air or the ocean was there. It was as if he was present in the form of a force; he was stoic and dependable, and could be counted on in a pinch, but in many ways he was closed and absent. In some respects he reminded her of Eldon; her foster father had never given her much information about himself, and though she lived with him and loved him, sometimes she felt as if she barely knew him.

From that moment, she became more determined to spend time with Daeghun, to get to know him better. She might not be able to go back in time, to fix all that was wrong with her relationship with Eldon, but perhaps she could make things right with Daeghun instead.

o - o - o - o - o

Five days into the journey to Baldur's Gate, and Esmerelle was sick to death of seeing trolls. At first they had horrified her, with their green skin, grotesque visages and disgusting smells, but after ten or twelve troll attacks she was beginning to see a pattern to their methods. They always came in groups of two to four. They never had weapons more advanced than a cudgel, and they never tried anything more advanced than a full frontal attack. They lacked the intelligence of gnolls, the finesse of orcs or the numbers of kobolds. Their hunting method relied on being able to overpower their victims through strength and their regenerative capabilities, and when this failed, the trolls quickly succumbed to superior skill.

Daeghun's new fire and acid-arrows came in particularly useful when despatching the trolls, and both Shayla and Esme utilised the elemental aspects of their spells to end the lives of the monsters. Occasionally, Belvar or Duncan would mortally wound a troll by chopping off its head, but for the most part, using fire and acid was faster and less bloody.

On the morning of their sixth day of travel, the group had just packed up and set off when they saw a cloud of dust on the horizon. Slowly, the dust-cloud grew closer, and Daeghun began counting his arrows. Too many more troll attacks and he would be completely out of the lethal bolts. But when the dust cloud drew close enough to be seen, it turned out to be not a raging band of trolls, as they had feared, but a lone human mounted on a sweaty and panting horse. Lucas hailed the man and offered him a drink from his canteen, which the man accepted gratefully.

"What are you in such a rush for, my young friend?" Lucas asked as the man gulped at the water as if it was his first drink in days.

"War," the man panted. "War between Amn and Baldur's Gate. The Lord's Alliance must be informed at once! I have to make it to Waterdeep."

"War?" Duncan asked doubtfully.

"Aye. Those dirty Amnish bastards have been ruining our iron supplies. Poisoning it with some sort of acid. The entire mine at Nashkel has been ruined. And we thought the orcs were to blame for the shortages."

"There's a watering hole about three miles up-road," said Lucas. "Your horse looks like it could do with a rest. As for you... do you need any extra rations?"

"No need to worry about me," said the messenger. "They gave me plenty." He patted his saddlebags. "And I'm not the only one. There's men riding out to Silverymoon, and a ship on its way to Neverwinter. Mark my words, there'll be armies marching within a week. We'll give those Amnians what for!"

The messenger departed, spurring his tired horse to a canter, and Esme felt sympathy for the poor animal. It looked as if it had already galloped all the way from Baldur's Gate, and it still had several days to go. She just hoped that it was being rested every night.

Silence descended upon the road as the sound of hoofbeats gradually died away. Then, ignoring the threat of local trolls, Daeghun took the large regional map from his pack and gestured for his companions to join him at the side of the road. He lay the map down flat and weighted each corner with a stone, and everybody gathered around. Esmerelle wondered what was happening, and she eagerly awaited some explanation.

"So," said Daeghun, studying the map carefully. "Baldur's Gate is off-limits."

"Why?" Esme asked, wondering if she had missed out on something.

"We avoid areas that are at war," Shayla explained. "Wars are terrible things, which draw the likes of madmen and mercenaries from miles around. Sometimes, local authorities try to conscript, which never ends well."

"Wars are good for hard, fast money, if you survive," Lucas elaborated. "Sometimes there's a tale or two of heroism to be found, but mostly it's just soldiers and peasants mindlessly slaughtering each other. If you ever see a war, Esmerelle, you run in the opposite direction as fast as you can."

"Does that mean we're going back to Waterdeep?" Esme asked.

There was silence again, whilst everybody considered the map. The Lucas spoke up, pointing to the sourthern area labelled 'Amn'. "If the army marches from Amn," he said, "it will most likely march from Athkatla. It will take them seven days of marching to reach Baldur's Gate, but they'll stop in the Cloak Wood to gather timber to build siege equipment. To get that far, though, they'll have to pass by Nashkel."

"Nashkel has long been a contested area," Duncan explained. "Geographically it comes under the Sword Coast, or the Heartlands, and is patrolled by the Flaming Fist. In reality, it's much closer to Amn, and the Amnians maintain a garrison there. For 'security' purposes."

"If Nashkel is taken," Lucas continued, "the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate will send their forces, including the Flaming Fist, south. He traced his finger along the road labelled 'The Coast Way'. "They will meet in the middle, in Beregost. The town will be evacuated to Baldur's Gate... the city will be flooded with refugees. And if Khelben Blackstaff and the rest of the Lords drag Waterdeep and the entire Lords' Alliance into war with Amn on behalf of Baldur's Gate... The Alliance won't be in time to stop the Amnian army from reaching Baldur's Gate. But it could seek some pretty powerful vengeance."

"So," said Esmerelle, trying to grasp all of the politics, "what you're saying is, in the whole of the Sword Coast, there is actually nowhere safe for us to go."

There was silence, and then Shayla spoke "We could spend the winter with my people. Winters in the Kryptgarden are often harsh, but rarely fatal."

Esme perked up at the prospect of wintering amongst the wild elves, but it seemed she was the only one keen on the idea.

"I tell you now, Shayla," Lucas said sternly, "my old bones and joints cannot take a winter spent sleeping on a roll of furs in a tent. I need warmth. I need a constant fire. I need a bed, and a nice looking young serving lady to fetch me my hot milk of an evening."

"And no offence," Belvar added, "but your people are hardly big on the written word."

"I was soooo boooored last time," Kiree complained. "Just sitting around, waiting to be slaughtered... it was no fun! Besides, your people have nothing worth pinching."

"Here is where we should go," said Duncan, pointing at the map. Since he had barely spoken a word, he immediately had everybody's attention. They all followed his finger, to the city he pointed at on the map.

"Your big fat semi-human hand is in the way of my reading," Kiree said, batting his hand away from the paper then bending down to examine the name. "Scornubel? I've never even heard of it."

"That's because you're a Silverymoon lass through and through. Scornubel is known in the Western Heartlands as the City of Caravans, and it's a little bit smaller than Everlund. It's bigger in summer, because of all the river trade, but in winter it also does a brisk overland trade supplying Elturel, where I grew up, as well as Triel, Soubar, Berdusk and even Hill's Edge. Bordered on its eastern side by The Reaching Woods, the River Chionthar runs through it, and joins the River Reaching just north of the woodlands. Lots of work for us, and plenty of inns and taverns to choose from."

"It sounds almost too good to be true," said Daeghun.

"Granted, they do have the occasional problem with bugbears and dopplegangers, and from time to time they get a slight illithid infestation... but mostly it's quiet. They have a nearby river, a nearby woods, several nearby towns... what more could you ask for?"

"I've heard of Scornubel, though I've never been there myself," Belvar piped up. "To me, it sounded like it had nothing of interest in it. An entirely boring place to be."

"Exactly! With the whole Sword Coast about to go to war, is there any place you'd rather be?"

"I've heard a saying," Kiree said sweetly. "When there is war in Neverwinter, Peace in Luskan. When there is plague in Waterdeep, Good health in Luskan. When there is strife in Baldur's Gate, Happiness in Luskan. When Silverymoon falls, Ten Weeks of celebration in Luskan."

"We are _not_ going to Luskan," said Lucas, "war or no war."

"What are the amenities like in Scornubel?" Daeghun asked Duncan.

"Well, like I said, plenty of inns and taverns to choose from. They've got a government, and the latest in outdoor privy design. They only have one temple, but it's dedicated to Lathander. Better than Talos or Cyric though, right? Look, they're mostly decent people. I used to travel there a lot, when I was younger. It's where I learnt to fight. I spent a lot of time in the taverns, listening to adventurers blandishing their tales. If you want somewhere safe, then right now, there's nowhere safer. If you want somewhere to earn money, then trade is brisk to a handful of nearby towns and villages. If you want somewhere to just sit with your feet up, then you're spoilt for choices. Sure, Scornubel doesn't have the size and charm of Silverymoon or Waterdeep or Baldur's Gate, and yeah, its name sounds a little like a disease you might catch from a lady of negotiable affection, but it's where I'd go if I wanted to keep my head down and avoid getting myself stuck up War Creek without my proverbial paddle."

"Very well," Daeghun relented. "If there are no objections, we will travel to Scornubel. It's about the same distance away from us as Baldur's Gate, though the road leads east, inland, instead of westward to the coast, so we should have enough supplies to see us there without problem."

Though Esme was secretly a little disappointed about not spending the winter with Shayla's people, she did not protest. Duncan seemed so pleased at having his suggestion taken seriously that she didn't have the heart to disappoint him. Besides, as far as she was concerned, one new city was much like the rest. She'd get around to visiting Baldur's Gate, eventually. Hopefully when the war with Amn had died away. Until then, Scornubel sounded as good a place as any.

o - o - o - o - o

Winter in Scornubel was not as cold as winter in the northern cities. Though the ground froze to a depth of several inches, the fast-flowing river did not. Trade boats moved up and down river on a daily basis taking away food goods and bringing furs, timber, minerals and gems in return. The boats required no escort or guard; this far up-river, sea creatures such as kuo-toa and sahuagin were absent, and land-based monsters such as trolls and bugbears could not reach a boat that was travelling along the fast-flowing river.

The land traders, though, did require protection. Duncan had not been exaggerating when he claimed that the area had occasional problems with bugbears. The whole region was infested with them, and that was on top of the usual fare of goblins, kobolds, tasloi, gnolls, trolls and ogres. There were also threats from the nearby forest from non-humanoid creatures; occasionally a wyvern would wander down from the hills in search of an opportunistic snack. Wolf packs were opportunists too, but they rarely came within sight of the city, preferring instead to stalk the farms near the forest for weak or lone livestock to pick off and drag away. There was also a nest of giant spiders somewhere in the hills which was beginning to make a nuisance of itself, but the local trackers struggled to find it.

Before winter had a chance to fully set in, the group made two trips escorting traders from Scornubel to Elturel, a two day trip which delighted Duncan no end because it gave him chance to tell anecdotes about his childhood. In Elturel, he showed them around all the best drinking areas, the nicest shops and the largest temples. Seeing his youthful exuberance made Esme smile and wish they had come to the Western Heartlands earlier. Duncan seemed happier here, in familiar country, and with his friends counting on him for advice and direction, he was less prone to drinking and getting into drunken brawls. A little responsibility, it seemed, did Duncan a world of good.

Scornubel itself was nicer than Esme had expected. She'd thought the city would be dirty, full of dishonest merchants and thieves, made dangerous by the mercenaries drawn to escort work. In truth, though, the city was quite clean, and well cared for by its residents. And if she didn't feel as safe walking down its streets at night as she did in Silverymoon or Waterdeep, she at least felt as safe as she did in Neverwinter or Everlund. The main roads were patrolled by local guards, and the smaller streets were kept relatively crime free by the residents, who banded together to create small pockets of militia to keep the peace in their own areas.

The inn they frequented in Scornubel was called Far Anchor, and it was unique in Scornubel in that its rooms were clean and bright. No alcohol was served there, but the huge dining room served excellent food and was open to non-residents, so there was a near-constant stream of changing faces. Sometimes, Esme would sit with Lucas for hours, just listening to the conversations around her, talking with the traders and merchants, learning about the area and about anything else she could coax out of them. It surprised her to learn that the entire staff of Far Anchor were retired adventurers, and she suddenly found a new and healthy respect for them.

The snows came in early winter, and most land trade ground to a halt. Only traders with mules or laden oxen could make it through the snow; for carts and caravans, the journey was too dangerous. No merchant wanted to ruin his carts by having them slipping and sliding everywhere in the snow, throwing their loads around and risking the legs of the horses and oxen that drew them.

One cold morning in midwinter, Esme was sitting with her friends, minus Duncan who had gone wandering off on his own, inside Far Anchor, enjoying a breakfast of spiced porridge and a cup of hot tea. Outside Far Anchor the snow had been meticulously shovelled away, but in other places it stood up to two feet deep. Outside the city, over the fields and hills, it was even deeper, and nobody left Scornubel unless they had to.

The door of the inn opened, and a cold breeze crept up Esme's back. A few seconds later Duncan appeared, his cheeks reddened by cold and his light brown hair wind-swept across his face. He was wearing his winter garments, thick gloves, his long woollen coat, and a scarf wrapped around his neck to keep out the worst of the cold. From the sparkle in his eyes, and the fact that he didn't immediately take a seat, Esme could tell he was excited.

Daeghun looked down at the snow Duncan had tracked through the dining room. "The innkeeper will not be pleased when he sees the mess you have made on his floor," he said.

Duncan ignored him. "I just heard that the barge travelling from Baldur's Gate to Elturel hit ice in the river and sank. All lives and the entire cargo lost."

"And yet you appear to find happiness in this tragic event" Shayla pointed out.

"The barge was carrying grain bound for Triel. The folks of Triel were relying on that grain, since their only supply became infested with rot early in the winter. A messenger arrived this morning and spoke to the council of merchants. If they don't get grain soon, the whole village risks starvation. The council are putting together a mule train, and asking for volunteers to help it get through to Triel."

"How much are they offering to pay?" Kiree asked.

"I already signed us up."

"That means they're paying well," the halfling told Esme.

"You should not have done so without consulting us first," Daeghun chastised.

Duncan rolled his eyes. "You'd really let a whole village starve? Women and children included."

"You can't speak for all of us in these matters, Duncan," Lucas said.

"Why not? You do it all the time. Just after we picked up Esmerelle you signed us up for a trade run to Silverymoon."

"He has a point," Kiree grinned wickedly.

"Triel is a small village," Duncan said, the mirth disappearing from his voice. "They have no farming community of their own. They can barely keep out the bugbears. They have to import everything... food, clothing, even basic things like soap. They were relying on the barge of grain to help see them through the winter. We can't just let them starve to death. Besides, it's only one day's travel. How hard can it be?"

o - o - o - o - o

"How hard can it be?" Belvar grumbled as he waded waist-deep through snow. "I'll give him 'how hard can it bloody be'."

"You don't like the snow much, do you?" Esme asked. She, too, was finding the going difficult, but nowhere near as difficult as Belvar and Kiree. The halfling had taken to sitting atop one of the pack mules, because the snow was just too deep for her to walk through, and too soft for her to walk over.

"Some lucky dwarves can go their whole lives without seeing snow. I wish I was one of them."

Esme nodded, and said nothing. Duncan had seriously underestimated how hard it would be to get the mules from Scornubel to Triel. There were twenty of the beasts in total, and each one carried two large panniers of grain, as well as the occasional halfling. After only two hours of journey, the group had been attacked by bugbears drawn to the mules. Three of the mules had tried to bolt in fear, managed to break their tethers and flee. Daeghun had tracked them down, but one of them had broken its leg slipping in the snow, and he'd had to put the animal out of its misery. Of the other two, one had broken one of its panniers and spilt the precious grain over the ground, and the other was a nervous wreck after its near-death experience.

The attack had taken its toll on more than the mules. The ten villagers, farmers who had nothing to farm while the snow lay on the ground, who had volunteered to come with shovels to dig a path for the mules, were jumpy and nervous. Bugbears were something they normally saw in the distance, right before the militia went out to stop them. They rarely had to deal with direct bugbear attacks. Though the farmers still dug relentlessly through the snow, they spent a lot of time looking around at the woods which lined each side of the road.

It was the job of Esme and her companions to protect not only the mules, but the merchants who owned them and the farmers who dug for them. At times, she felt herself torn; she knew that her magic, and Shayla's, could be used to melt some of the snow, to make it easier for the mules to travel and make it easier for the farmers to dig. But if they wasted the majority of their spells on clearing snow, then they might have no way to protect the train of mules if the bugbears, or worse, came back.

Though the journey to Triel normally only took one day, the travel was so slow through the deep snow that they were forced to make a frigid camp halfway along the road. It was a sleepless night. Esmerelle and her friends had been hired to guard, so they could not sleep. Not that she would have slept, had she been given the chance. Emotions were running too high, especially fear. It passed through the group, from the mules to the farmers and the merchants, until it seemed that the night might just explode with nervous tension if something didn't happen soon. Even the normally stoic Daeghun was not immune; he was more silent and watchful than usual, and more than once he pulled his bowstring taught, preparing to let an arrow fly, only to gradually release the pressure on his string a moment later. They had more than one false alarm during that long, dark night.

Morning came and they feasted on rations, then departed as soon as the sun crested the horizon. Nobody wanted to spend another night outdoors. Nobody wanted to be on that road a moment longer than they had to be. To Esme, it seemed as if the entire world had stopped, trapped in a cocoon of snow which muted every sound. There was almost no conversation, on the road. Not because they feared an avalanche, but because voices seemed terribly out of place. The silence of the road was broken only by the sound of the farmers puffing and panting as they worked, and by the occasional whickering and braying of the mules.

When at last the village of Triel came into sight, with its high wooden palisade walls strengthened by huge boulders, Esmerelle could have cried. She was tired, hungry, cold, and her nerves were almost completely frayed. Even the heart of the High Forest, with its ancient oppressive trees, had not made her feel this way. She knew, now, why her friends settled down during the winter and rarely made anything more than a brief escort journey or two. Travelling this way simply took too much out of a person. It wasn't healthy.

Triel's gate opened, a wide gap in the palisade wall, and the farmers trudged wearily inside, followed by the merchants and the mules. Esme and her friends came last, ever cautious of attack from behind, but it wasn't until Esme was inside the palisade and the gate was closing behind her that she finally felt able to relax. The tension began to drain from her weary body, but that caused her to be more conscious of the cold, and she began shivering.

"Hey there," said Duncan, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "I know just how you feel. I lost all feeling in my toes about forty-eight hours ago, and I'm not entirely convinced that my hands are still attached to my arms." He held up his free arm, displaying his gloved hand. "What do you think?"

"I think you'll survive," she smiled. "We just need to warm up and having something proper to eat. And maybe some sleep. I can't decide which is worse, the tiredness or the cold."

"One's as bad as the other," he shrugged. "But come on, let's join the others, get paid, and find somewhere to sit and eat and drink and maybe even sleep."

As he led her after the rest of the group, Esme became conscious that she was being watched. Looking around, she saw doors of houses opening as people came out onto the streets, wrapped up in their coats and their shawls. They hugged themselves warm as they watched the procession of mules, but there was no celebration as Esme had expected, nobody ran up to say thank you. The faces of the people were wary, like the faces of the farmers had been during the sleepless night on the road. Only the young children seemed to have been spared undue caution; they ran up to the mules, laughing and stroking the beasts. The animals seemed a little calmer for it.

"How strange," Esme whispered, glancing around at the adult faces, hoping that one of them would express some happiness and gratitude that they would not be starving this winter.

"Eh, don't mind them," Duncan said quietly. "They don't get many visitors, in Triel, so they're a bit wary of strangers."

"Have you been here before?"

"Only once. There's not much to tell. The folks here have a few orchards outside the palisade, but the soil's too poor and infertile to grow grain or cereals. This wooden wall is all they have to protect them from the monsters that stalk the Heartlands. They've got two temples, one to Lathander and one to Silvanus, but they're tiny, one-priest type of affairs. An old guy called Theore runs the temple to the Morninglord, and the priest of Silvanus is a ranger named Nathaniel, but he spends as much time away in the forest, hunting down the monsters that threaten the village, as he does in the temple. There's also a shrine to Malar in the middle of the village. The people here believe that by showing deference to the beast-lord, he will protect them from the worst of the beasts and the monsters. If you ask me, it's the actions of Nathaniel that keep them safe, not their prayers to Malar."

They wandered down the main road, from which the worst of the snow had been cleared to expose a dirt track. Very few shops lined the road; Esme counted a bakery and a brewery, a shop that sold candles and firewood, and another that sold animal skins and furs, but there were no clothes shops, no shops selling fruit and vegetables, or any of the other items that could be found on sale in a town. Then again, if Duncan was right, and these people had to import most of their goods, they probably traded directly with the merchants and had little use for shops. She stopped briefly to examine what was on offer in the bakery, but the few loaves that were left were small, misshapen and stale, and did not appeal to even her hungry stomach.

When they caught up with their friends outside a tavern, they discovered that Daeghun had just accepted payment for the outward leg of their journey, and the trade-master told him that there would be as much again for escorting everybody back to Scornubel, as soon as they were ready to return. Daeghun thanked him, and they followed the ten exhausted farmers through the door of the inn.

The warmth of the common room threatened to overwhelm Esme, and she tore off her outer layers as a sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. Around her, everybody else was doing the same, and as they finished a middle-aged aproned figure approached. The inn-keeper, Esme realised.

"I hear you fine gentleman are the volunteers who laboured to bring us our grain," the man said to the farmers with a smile. "Your food, drinks and rooms are on the house. It's the least I can do after you risked your lives to help us." Then he turned to observe Daeghun's group, his eyes lingering over their weapons, and the fierce-looking tattoos which adorned Shayla's skin. "And that makes you folks the mercenaries. You'll be paying your for your own food, drinks and rooms here."

"We wouldn't want it any other way," Lucas assured him, taking out a handful of silver coins. The man eyed them suspiciously. "Could we have some food and drinks, now? We may wish the use of your bath tub later. You will of course let us know if you charge extra for that."

"Of course." The innkeeper gestured towards a table at the far side of the room. "If you'd like to take a seat, I'll bring you some soup and what's left of the bread. I'm sure you won't find it up to your usual standard, but it's all we have during these difficult times."

"Whatever you have will be fine for us, thank you." Lucas led the way to the table and took a seat in one of the chairs. The others crowded around as the farmers from Scornubel spread out around the common room.

"I wonder what that guy's problem is," Kiree said quietly. "I don't remember when I last met anybody so rude, and that includes the time when I was kidnapped by the Shadow Thieves last winter."

"Strangers aren't all that common in Triel," Duncan said. "And a lot of people have prejudice against mercenaries and adventurers. We've seen it before."

"But not like this. Not when we've helped to bring a vital grain shipment through a very dangerous area of land."

"I suspect," said Lucas, "that the people here have always endured hardship and a relative degree of isolation. We will simply have to take care and be more forgiving of their foibles."

The door of the inn opened, and several men entered carrying spears and cudgels. They looked around the room, and when their eyes located Esmerelle and her friends, they made their way over. Belvar's hand immediately went to the handle of his axe, and Shayla gripped her staff more tightly, though the magic runes on it did not yet glow with power.

"Is there a problem here?" Lucas asked, turning in his seat to look up at the man who appeared to be the leader of the group.

The man used his cudgel to point at Esmerelle, and she felt herself instinctively shrink back in an attempt to make herself smaller. "The girl needs to come with us," the man said, his voice gruff and unfriendly.

"And you would be...?"

"We're the militia."

"Tell me," Lucas said, slipping a throwing knife out of his sleeve and passing it over the knuckles of his fingers. The man's gaze followed the movement hypnotically. "Why should my friend go with you?"

"It's not a request, it's an order. She was seen to steal from our bakery. She will be held and questioned over her crimes."

"That's a lie!" Esme spoke up, suddenly unafraid. How dare these men try to claim that she was some petty thief? Some... some... criminal! She would never, ever steal, not for any reason, and she definitely wouldn't steal from people who had so little. "I looked at a loaf of bread in the bakery. I didn't take it. I didn't even touch it."

"That's not what our witness says, but you'll have chance to tell your side of your story later. For now, you can come with us peacefully, or we can drag you to the gaol. Either way works for me, though your punishment will be less if you co-operate with us."

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room. The Scornubrians had long since ceased their discussions, and were now trying to slowly edge away. They had seen first hand what the group of adventurers could do to a band of armed and vicious bugbears, and they clearly had no desire to see any more fighting up close.

Esme's heart thumped in her chest. There were six of the local militia, but the ones carrying polearms would not be able to use their weapons effectively indoors; they were far too cumbersome. She and her friends, meanwhile, numbered seven, with both seasoned warriors and effective spellcasters making up their ranks. The militia had to know that they couldn't win this fight. Why would they risk their safety and their lives to arrest somebody over something as insignificant as a loaf of stale bread? It just didn't make any sense.

"You've got the wrong person," Kiree said, standing up and pushing her chair back. "I'm the thief. I took the stuff from the bakery. Arrest me instead."

"No, Kiree," Esme said, not willing to let her friend take responsibility for a crime she hadn't committed, "nothing was stolen."

But the man ignored her. "Our witness mentioned nothing about a half-pint," he said, which caused Duncan to frown angrily at the insult. The militia leader turned back to Esmerelle. "Are you coming with us, or are we taking you?"

"Esmerelle," said Daeghun, his eyes and voice calm as ever, "go with these men. We will sort out this... misunderstanding... and see you shortly."

Esme nodded. In a dream-like state, she stood and pushed her chair away from the table, then stepped towards the men. They did not touch her, but they flanked her, leading her and guarding her at the same time. She knew that she had nothing to fear. She was innocent of the crime, and once they listened to her story and searched her belongings, they would realise she was innocent too. But, for some reason, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and refused to budge.

o - o - o - o - o

As the door closed behind the militia, Lucas slipped his throwing knife back up his sleeve. The whole room began to breathe again, and the Scornubrian farmers began discussing the militia in hushed whispers. Apparently they didn't like the feel of the village either, because every so often they would look over their shoulders, as if keeping watch for the absent innkeeper. When Daeghun spoke, Lucas transferred his attention back to his companions.

"Follow them," Daeghun told Kiree. "Watch where they take her. Return quickly."

Kiree nodded and darted from the room, slipping silently around the tavern door. "I can't believe this!" said Duncan angrily, one hand opening and closing around the hilt of his sword as if he wished it were wrapped around a neck instead. "Those ungrateful, lying... swine! Esmerelle is the most honest person I know. She would never steal, not even if her life depended on it. We need to find out who's been spreading these lies and make him change his tune."

"Patience, Duncan," said Shayla. The elf laid her hand on his arm, as if that could quiet him. "We will make this right. But we cannot turn to violence. We are under the jurisdiction of a human settlement. If we are seen to be flouting their laws, a bad reputation would haunt us forever."

"Reputation be damned. If they harm even one hair on Esmerelle's head..."

"She'll be alright for the moment," Belvar said. "My guess is most of the villagers are busy unloading all the grain and storing it away before the vermin start arriving, otherwise there might have been more of the militia here."

The door of the inn opened, and Kiree returned, stamping her feet on the hog-hair welcome mat to rid them of snow. She rejoined her friends at the table, and they all leant forward to speak in whispers.

"That was fast," Duncan said.

"It's a tiny village," Kiree shrugged. "They've taken Esme to what appears to be a gaol. A small building just around the corner from here, with two cells inside. It's guarded by three militia men. She's all alone in there, the other cell is empty."

"I see it, now," said Shayla. Her eyes were unfocused and she appeared to be staring at the table. "It looks a cold, miserable place. I thought it best that Esmerelle not be alone right now. Ashara will remain with her until we can get her out."

"How _are_ we going to get her out?" Duncan asked.

"I don't know." Daeghun's brows were creased into a frown, which was unusual. Lucas had hardly ever seen the elf perplexed.

"You don't know? But you're the one who told her to go with the militia! She trusted you!"

"We may have to rely on the justice system of Triel, to realise that Esmerelle is innocent."

"I'm going to speak to the militia guards," Lucas said, standing and rolling his shoulders to work the knots from his muscles. He couldn't sit around with the others making plans, not with so much about the situation still unknown.

"To what end?"

"Maybe I can find out who this 'witness' is. If we can talk to him, or her, we may discover why they have made up this allegation. Maybe I can learn if they accept bribes. Perhaps they'll let me talk to Esme, to reassure her that we're doing all we can. And if Kiree comes with me, she can have a look at the state of the locks."

"Do not take any action," Daeghun cautioned him.

He nodded, and gestured for Kiree to lead the way. He followed her out of the inn and down several smaller streets, from which the snow had not been entirely cleared. The village was suspiciously quiet. In any other village, even in winter, he would have expected to hear children laughing and playing, women gossiping and men standing around talking about the weather or their livestock. There was none of that, in Triel, only closed doors and, it seemed, closed minds.

They quickly reached the small gaol, and he watched as the militia guarding the door puffed themselves up. It always amazed him that even after thousands of years of civilsation, human beings still behaved as little more than upright wolves, at times. They postured and threatened and, when it came down to it, were often ruled by their base instincts. He had sometimes wondered what would happen if you took a civilised man and stripped him of everything he possessed; his nice home, his loving family, his material wealth and his fancy clothes. Would be quickly revert to an animal state? Or would he maintain his aura of civility? It was an experiment he wished he could perform... but it would be too cruel and traumatising to put a person through such a trial. Alas.

"We have no interest in anything you have to say," one of the guards said as he casually approached.

"All I want is to speak to the witness who saw my friend steal from the bakery, to try to ascertain the events leading up to and following this alleged crime," Lucas said smoothly, in a voice pitched to calm.

"Out of the question."

"Come now, there's no harm in talking, is there?"

"Depends who's doing the speaking. The right words from the right mouth could topple kings from thrones and send whole nations to war. I'll not have you coming here and trying to confuse our witness, or bully him into changing his story. I know your type. Silver-tongued, and fork-tongued. You'll bend the truth to suit your needs and try to twist the words of others."

"How very astute of you," Lucas smiled. The guard had just given him at least one piece of information. The witness was a 'he'. "May I at least speak to my friend for a few minutes, to reassure her that I'm still here?"

"You can have five minutes, but the half-pint stays out here," said the guard, nodding at Kiree. "I heard her in the Inn, claiming to be a thief. I'll not have her sticking her fingers where they don't belong."

"Wait for me here, Kiree," said Lucas. She could always come back later, under the cover of darkness when she could make herself practically invisible in the shadows. When the guard opened the door, he slipped inside, and the door was closed behind him.

The gaol was a poor affair, much like the rest of the village. It was cold and draughty, constructed well enough to keep its occupants in, but not the biting wind out. The right-hand cell was empty, but in the left sat Esmerelle, looking thoroughly dejected on the cold stone floor. Ashara, Shayla's ethereal blue spirit guide, was curled up in Esme's lap, but he knew that the squirrel gave off no warmth. It wasn't a real creature, but one born from the ether of magic.

"Lucas!" she gasped, standing and gripping the cold bars with her hands. Her blue eyes were wide with fear. "What's happening?"

"At the moment, very little I'm afraid. I'd planned to bring Kiree here to let her take a look at the locks on your cage, but they won't let her in. She might have to come back at night. I'm sure we can easily overcome the guards and-"

"No." The woman's voice was firm. "I don't want anyone to be hurt because of me. If breaking me out means harming anyone, I forbid you to do it."

"You would rather stay in the gaol?"

"Than see somebody harmed in my name? Yes. I am one person, Lucas. How many people will you have to injure or kill to free me? One? Five? The whole village? I don't want my name to be associated with pain, or death."

"We needn't harm them. A sleep spell, perhaps, or maybe Shayla can invoke the ancestral spirits of this place to-"

"I appreciate your efforts, I really do," she said, sinking down to the floor. "But you can't always have a plan. You can't always save somebody who needs to be saved."

"Please don't despair," he said, crouching down to look her straight in the eyes. He hoped he could impart some of his own courage to her. She clearly needed it. "I've learnt from your guards that this 'witness' who saw you stealing is a man. I don't know who he is yet, but I'll find him and get a straight answer out of him."

"I don't think there is a witness," said Esmerelle, sounding even more defeated, if that was even possible. "I think the villagers made it up. When we arrived here, Duncan told me that the people here entreat Malar to help and protect them through the winter. There's a shrine, in the centre of the village. I think they intend to make me their next sacrifice."

"I highly doubt that," he replied, hoping the confidence in his voice covered over the new, niggling doubt he felt inside.

"Why else would a village as tiny and insignificant as Triel have not one, but _two_ jail cells? Why else would they make up these charges of me stealing? It's justification, to allow them to rightfully 'punish' me."

"We won't let that happen, Esme. Right now, everybody is busy storing grain, and they will be until late, I think. I'll be watching this gaol round the clock, and once darkness falls I'll bring Kiree back. We'll get you out."

"Not if it means killing or hurting anybody."

"You still want us to show leniency? Even when you fear you might be sacrificed to the beast lord?"

"I don't think these are bad people. Just desperate. I might be the same, if I had grown up here, and lived my whole life here."

The door of the gaol opened and the guard stuck his head inside. "Your five minutes are up."

"Be strong," said Lucas, taking Esme's cold hand in his own and squeezing it. "We'll see you soon."

o - o - o - o - o

The air in the cell was bitterly cold, the winter breeze sneaking in through the cracks between the bricks. Esmerelle sat with her back against the wall, watching her breath fog the air every time she exhaled. She didn't know what was happening, why she had been left alone in the cell for so long. By the light that filtered in through the tiny barred window, she deduced that it was late afternoon. How long had it been since Lucas had left? Two hours? Three. She didn't need to worry about him enacting some daring and violent rescue plan. Everything that they had discussed would have been relayed to Shayla through Ashara, and Shayla would not let Lucas act if it went against Esme's wishes.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, and not for the first time. All she had eaten all day was a few meagre rations in the early morning. And worse, she had left the inn without any of her outer clothing, and now wore only her trousers, and long-sleeved white shirt, and her walking boots. She had unbound her long curly hair, letting it fall loose down her back and over her shoulders. It warmed her a little, but not enough to stop her shivering. On top of the coldness and hunger, she was also sleep-deprived and physically exhausted. She had walked too far, been too emotionally tense during the two days of travel, and had not had chance to relax before being taken into custody. She knew she should get up and walk around her cell, move her muscles to keep herself warm and stave off the torpor that was beginning to cloud her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to try. What was the point, when she would likely be dead by the morning?

She drifted in and out of consciousness, managing to catch a few moments of brief, dream-haunted sleep before being woken by her own violent shivering. Ignoring Ashara, and the way the squirrel pawed at her to remain awake, became easier and easier, until eventually the squirrel disappeared altogether.

It was during one such waking interlude that she noticed the militia who had captured her standing silently and ominously outside her cell door. She blinked at them, trying to make her mind work. "So, it's time, is it?" she asked.

"That's right," one of the men confirmed. He unlocked her cell and helped her to her feet; her legs immediately tried to collapse, but he held her upright, and another man took her by her other arm, and together they took her from the cell.

When they carried her outside, she had to shield her eyes. The snow was blindingly white after the darkness of the gaol, and it made her dizzy to look at it. With some regret, she noticed that the sun as still above the horizon. If they had let her remain in her cell until dark, Kiree might have come to free her. Now, it was too late. Now she would never see her friends again. Maybe she _should_ have let Lucas attempt a rescue.

The people on the streets watched with blank faces as her guards escorted her along the main road. What were they thinking? Did they feel any sympathy for her? Or was she nothing but flesh to them, a stranger, and therefore expendable? Did they care that she had helped bring them grain? Would they think of her throughout the winter months, and the peace her sacrifice would have bought them? Or would they forget about her, and get on with their lives, never casting a thought for the strange woman they had killed to save their own lives.

As they approached the centre of the village, she saw the shrine of which Duncan had spoken, and stopped to look at it. A table of black granite sat atop four stone pillars at chest height. At the base of the shrine, offerings had been left. She saw the long spinal column of an animal laid out on the floor, each vertebrae clearly distinguishable. A wolf fur had been laid over the table, with the head still attached, and several long femur bones had been placed leaning against the stone columns. In addition, blood had been spattered on the snow around the table, turning from red to pink as it trickled away. She hoped that whatever had given its blood for offering had not suffered for long.

"I didn't tell you to stop," said one of the guards behind her, nudging her leg with the butt of his spear.

Her mind whirled in confusion as they led her past the shrine, away from the scene of death, and down a different street. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To meet your accuser."

"You mean... somebody actually thinks they saw me stealing?"

"You were seen stealing by the Dawnlord of our temple. You will explain your actions to him, and he will pass judgement on you."

Esme could have laughed, were it not for the tiredness, hunger and cold that gripped her body. She had spent the past few hours convincing herself that she was going to die, and it turned out that this was all some huge misunderstanding. The relief that flooded her body and mind was palpable. Duncan had told her that the priest of Lathander here was an elderly man. Most likely he had seen her looking at the bread and mistakenly thought she had taken it. Perhaps his mind was clouded with age, or perhaps his vision was failing. Rather than try to disprove his claim, maybe he would be placated with an apology. That way he would not lose face amongst his worshippers.

The temple they took her to could not rightfully be called a temple. It was more of a church, small and comely, lacking in the domes and spires and decor that was common to temples of Lathander. The grey-stone building had a proper roof of slate, unlike the majority of the thatch-roofed houses which flanked it, and the snow had been cleared from the pathway. As her guards led her forward, she briefly caught sight of what looked like a vegetable patch, bereft of plants but kept clear and well-tended even during the winter months.

One of the militia opened the door and she was ushered inside. The difference between the inside of the church and the village outside was astounding. In here, large scented candles greeted guests in the entry chamber, warming the air with a soft orange light. The door to the main part of the church was heavy wooden oak, clean and lovingly polished, and when it opened, it did so silently, without a groan or even a squeak of protest. Inside the prayer hall were more candles, enough to banish the worst of the darkness. There was no coldness here. Though she could see no fire, the air was pleasantly warm, and there were no holes between the stones of the walls for the breeze to find its way inside. Alcoves were set into the walls; some held books, others statues depicting Lathander, and others had been covered by long red and orange curtains with the symbol of the Morninglord sewn into them for all to see.

Benches lined both sides of the room, with the central aisle running past them. The benches themselves were plain in design, but looked to be made of a high-quality wood. Walnut, Esme suspected, though she had never seen it used much for furniture. On the seats of the benches were long cushions, made in rich shades of red, orange, purple and blue. At the head of the room stood a font and altar; on the alter stood several gold chalices adorned with jewels. But the hall itself was empty, and it was to a door at the back of the room, on the left side, that the guards led her. One knocked on the door, and waited patiently.

"Come," said a voice after a moment.

The door was opened, and Esme was led into a room much smaller than the hall. Sunlight streamed in from the window in the left wall, illuminating the whole room. Sitting behind a large, plain desk was an elderly man, older even than Lucas. His hair and beard were whiter than the snow outside, and his blue eyes looked filmy; the first stages of cataracts, Esme knew. It was no wonder, then, that he'd mistaken her action of stopping beside the bakery for theft.

Taking the chance to briefly glance around the rest of the room, she noticed several paintings adorning the walls. One was of the landscape around the area, and one depicted a band of knights fighting a dragon. Another showed a woman, with a young child seated on her lap, and the last was a beautiful painting of the Morninglord himself. The rest of the room was simply decorated, with a sheepskin rug covering the wooden floor in front of the open log fire, and a long red curtain draped across the back of the room, most likely hiding an alcove or storage area.

"We brought the girl as requested, Theore," said one of the guards, offering the elderly man a stiff bow.

"Thank you. Leave us." The guards left, and Esme stared at the priest. She had expected his voice to _sound_ as elderly as he looked, possibly broken and quavering with age. Instead, his voice was steady and strong, belying little of his advanced years. Though Esme wanted to erupt with righteous anger, to demand why he had publically accused her of theivery, she kept her mouth firmly closed. If she had any chance of coming out of this situation well, she needed to convince the priest that she was a good person. Anger would be counter-productive. Or at least, that's what Lucas would say, in her situation. He would caution her to watch, to listen, to observe, and think before opening her mouth. So that's what she did.

"What is your name, child?" Theore asked.

"Esmerelle," she replied, and tried to make herself sound cowed. Not that she had to try very hard. Eldon and the other priests who had raised and taught her, and instructed her well. It was proper to show deference to your elders, to treat them with respect, and that applied even moreso to acolytes or new priests speaking to their superiors.

"And your family name?"

"I have no family."

"If you have no family, then who named you?"

"My father," she replied, feeling uneasy. These questions had nothing to do with theft. Why was he probing so deeply? He couldn't possibly recognise her; she had never seen him before in her life, not even from a distance. Unless... perhaps Ali had betrayed her. Perhaps she had sent out missives to all the towns and cities along the Sword Coast, describing a Bhaalspawn with blue eyes and long dark wavy hair.

"And _his_ name?" the priest asked.

"I don't see what any of this has to do with my alleged crime," she said defiantly, cursing herself for not curbing her tongue. But the damage was done. She could see it in Theore's eyes. He did not approve of her tone. So she continued. "If you want to ask questions, why not ask me about my arrival here, about the moment I supposedly stole from the bakery? The reason you haven't asked me about that is because you know it's not true."

"Here is what I believe," said Theore, standing and steepling his fingers together in front of his chest. His long red robes almost drowned his frail body. "I believe you are a liar, a mercenary, and a thief. I believe that you make your living by hiring yourself out to take advantage of the misery of others. You and the rest of your companions... would you have been so quick to come here, to help the people of Triel, if you hadn't been paid for it? Where do you think your wages come from? Initially, from the merchants, but they pay your wages by adding your fee onto our grain price. Do you still claim you haven't stolen, when you have taken much-needed coin from the hands of every man, woman and child in this village? You aren't here because you took a loaf of bread. What is a single loaf of bread compared to the money that could be used to buy many loaves?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said. She stood, and folded her arms across her chest, straightening her back to stand a little taller. "I too have wrestled with my conscience many times. But my friends and I need to eat. We need to buy weapons and supplies. Without these things, we cannot do our jobs. That's right, our _jobs_. If we were never paid for work, we would never eat, never have weapons and not be able to protect ourselves or defend others. I'm sorry for your people, for the fact that they have to live here, that their lives are hard, and that they're hungry. But my friends and I taking payment for escorting your grain does not make us thieves. We're talking about economics, and the fact that you don't understand that suggests you have a poor grasp of it. And your people, being hungry or whatever? That speaks of bad leadership. Do you think you're the only village to ever run out of grain? Winters are harsh. It's a fact of life. You should have been better prepared. I will pray that your people learn from this, and that next year they are more sensible about storing their food."

"A pretty speech. Perhaps you would like to walk amongst the people, talk to them, find out the hardships they have to endure, and then see if you still hold the same opinion."

"Why does my opinion matter? In fact, why am I the only one here? I don't lead my group of friends, nor do I speak for them. Why aren't the others here, with me? Did you single me out because I am the youngest? Because I am a woman? Because you thought I would be easily cowed?" she asked, each question feeding her anger. How dare this petty little man try to victimise her!

"You are here, and not they, because you have been called to be judged. An adherent of Lathander such as yourself should understand that-"

"I never told you I worship Lathander," she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "I never mentioned the Morninglord's name. So how do you know that I am one of the faithful?"

"Enough of this," came a voice, and a man stepped out from behind the red curtain at the back of the room.

Esme gasped in shock, and felt the blood drain from her face. The man's face was achingly familiar; his dark brown hair was cut short and neatly combed, his almost-black eyebrows arched neatly over dark brown eyes which were whirlpools of emotion as he watched her. His cheekbones were high, his cheeks covered by a thin coating of dark stubble. In a way, he seemed smaller than she remembered him. He was still tall, shoulders were still broad, and through the red priest's shirt he wore she could tell he had lost none of his toned physique. But she didn't have to crane her neck as far up to look at him, now, as she had in the past, when she was a little girl. He was in the room, but he no longer filled it, was no longer the centre of it, and his presence did not keep out the rest of the world. Whilst they had been parted, she had grown, and he had not, and now she saw Eldon as others saw him; a man. A handsome man, yes, perhaps even handsome enough to be called beautiful, but just a man. He was not the protective force that had taken her away from the temple of Bhaal almost sixteen years ago.

"Thank you, Theore. You may go now." He spoke to the priest, but his eyes never left her face. He didn't even blink. And she, too, barely even noticed when the elderly man bowed and left the room. He was here. Eldon. Her father. He was in Triel. This was real. She wasn't dreaming. "I don't know who you are," he continued, speaking to her, "or why you're passing yourself off as my daughter, but this stops now."

"But Eldon, I _am_ your daughter."

"Don't say that!" He stalked around the desk and took her by the shoulders, the grip of his hands almost painful. His dark eyes were angry, unrecognisable. "You dishonour her memory by using that name. Did you think that just because my daughter is dead and you bear some resemblance to her that you could steal her identity? Is that the kind of vulture you are, picking at the bones of the past like some filthy carrion eater?"

"I am Esmerelle," she said, and tears sprang into her eyes, a reaction to his words and the harsh tone of his voice. "It's the name you gave me when I was six years old, when you took me from the temple of Bhaal and rescued me. Just before you named me, Albur killed the priest who had been trying to kill me. You took me away and showed me to a man on a horse. Then you took me to the fireside and asked if I wanted to be 'Esmerelle'. It was your grandmother's name. She raised you after your mother died. You told me she was a kind woman, and even though I didn't know what that meant, I knew that I wanted to be Esmerelle. And, on the night you went to the meeting at the temple, you came home and found me asleep on the sofa. I dropped my book, and you picked it up for me. The page number it fell on was fifty-seven. Is that proof enough for you? Could anybody else have known any of that?"

His grip loosened on her shoulders and the anger fled from his face, replaced with shock, sorrow and hope. "Esme? It's really you?"

"Yes, it's really me," she smiled. She used her sleeve to wipe away the tears from her eyes; they were causing her vision to blur, but she wanted to see her father's face.

He pulled her forwards into his arms and held her tightly, and she wrapped her own arms around his shoulders as far as they would go. "Lathander has answered my prayers," he whispered. "It took over seven years, but he finally answered them."

There was so much she wanted to say; how sorry she was for leaving him, for upsetting him, for making him believe she was dead. How much she had thought about him over the years, and hoped he was still thinking of her. How well she had done on her own, learning magic and finding friends and helping people along the Sword Coast. But she couldn't bring herself to speak. So she let herself cry, and let her cold body be warmed by his. Unlike with Ali, she didn't need to worry about him seeing her crying and upset. He had seen her crying many times before, when she was a little girl and her nightmares had been particularly bad. He had held her often as she had grown up, and the gesture was familiar. Even his scent, the smell of soap and incense and fresh air, was a comfort which soothed her. All of her hunger and tiredness and coldness evaporated, made less urgent by the shock of finding her father.

He pulled her away from him and stood her at arm's length, then used his fingers to gently turn her face, to examine her features and feel the texture of her hair. "I dreamed about this moment over and over again," he said. "But I forgot that this happens. I forgot that children grow up. That girls grow into women. I forgot that if I ever found you again, you wouldn't be the little girl who read her prayer book every night before bed. But here you are. Alive. And more beautiful than I could have hoped or imagined." She felt herself blush at his comment - she didn't consider herself particularly beautiful - but he ignored it. "There is so much I want to ask you. I want you to tell me everything, absolutely everything that has happened to you, starting from the moment you fled the temple."

"There's a lot to tell," she admitted. "But..." she pointed to the window. "I've just noticed that at some point when I wasn't looking, it got dark. And my friends will be worried about me. They might even try to rescue me, and that could end badly."

"I'm so sorry, I forgot all about that," he said, and turned away from her. "I regret the things I had to accuse you of to get you here alone. Of course, you should tell your friends that you're well. And I shouldn't harass you so soon, not after you spent a long, dangerous journey escorting our grain." He turned back and took her hands in his. "Tomorrow. I hold morning prayers here in the church. Will you come?"

"Of course."

"And please, dine with me tomorrow evening, then we can talk in private. During the days, my time is taken with seeing to the people of the village, but once the sun begins to set I am free."

"I would love to. There's a lot for us to talk about."

He smiled, and straightened an errant lock of her hair. "I'm glad. Now, I'll escort you back to your inn."

"Is it dangerous on the streets at night?"

"No, but it is polite. And it is the least I can do for forcing you to spend hours alone in our cold gaol."

She let him lead the way out of the church, her mind swirling with thoughts. Eldon hadn't once mentioned her being a Child of Bhaal. Perhaps he truly didn't care. Maybe he was just glad to get his daughter back. But some tiny part of her had niggling doubts. He had a duty as a knight and a priest to protect others. Would he see her as a threat? Would he, like Ali, tell her to leave for her own good and never come back? She didn't know if she could handle such a rejection. From her best friend it had been terrible. From her father, the man who had raised her and loved her, it would be soul crushing.

They walked in silence, for which she was grateful. Small talk would have been out of place, and all of the big things they needed to discuss would be covered tomorrow evening, at dinner. When Eldon stopped, Esme looked up at the sign swinging gently in the breeze; The Whispering Wind, it said.

"How did you know I'd be staying here?" she asked.

"It's the only inn in town," he smiled.

"Do you want to come in and meet my friends?"

"Not tonight. I suspect you'll have a lot to talk about with them, and I don't want things to get awkward with me there. Perhaps tomorrow, after dinner."

"I'm looking forward to it." She hesitated for a moment. She couldn't leave for the night on some bland pleasantry. Not with so much left unsaid, and so much more to say. "Eldon... I've missed you so much."

"I know just how you feel." He took one of her hands in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing it softly. "I can't hug you again. It was hard enough letting go the first time, and sooner or later the villagers will begin to wonder why their Dawnlord has been standing outside hugging a thief for hours." He laughed at his own mental image, then shook his head. "I'll see you at prayer in the morning. But if you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to come to me."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, fighting back the tears again. "Goodnight."

He released her hand and she watched him walk away into the night. As he left, so did the protective force that he was always able to summon for her. Her tiredness crept back in, and her hunger was so strong that she almost felt nauseous because of it. Still dressed in only her lighter clothes, she began shivering, and decided it was time to speak to her friends. She didn't have a clue what she was going to tell them, or how she was going to explain all of this. All she wanted to do was eat, have a hot bath, and go to bed. But she had friends, and she owed them her time.


	29. Triel

Chapter 29.

Triel

"_Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material."_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald

o - o - o - o - o

Esme entered the inn, and her friends immediately jumped to their feet. They were still gathered around the table at the rear of the room - though she noticed a pile of empty bowls and plates set to one side - and they all looked surprised by her appearance.

"Esme! What happened?" said Kiree, running over and pulling her back to the table by the hand. "How did you escape."

"I didn't. They let me go."

"But how-"

"Before we get into the hows and whys, I need food. Warm food. I haven't eaten all day."

Kiree and Duncan fought between themselves about who would go to the bar to get food, and in the meantime Lucas took care of it himself. He ordered food for Esme and a round of drinks for everybody, then returned to the table carrying a glass of brandy.

"Here, drink this." He gave her the glass and she smiled gratefully. It began warming her immediately, but in a pleasant way, rather than a Firebelly Firewine way. After a few sips she was beginning to feel much more human, and that feeling only increased when the innkeeper arrived with a bowl of soup and a plate of stale bread. He gave her an unimpressed look, but she ignored him. Right now she was far too hungry and cold to be concerned about somebody else's displeasure.

Kiree allowed her to eat half of her food before finally giving in to her cat-like curiosity and pestering again for answers.

"Let Esmerelle dine in peace," Shayla scolded, but she was smiling as she did so.

"It's fine, I feel much better," Esme said.

"We really thought we'd have to spring you from that gaol ourselves," said Duncan. "In fact, we were right in the middle of planning how to pull it off when you walked in."

"I suggested using Duncan's head as a battering ram to break down your cell door," Belvar grinned happily.

"We are all pleased to see you safe and well, Esmerelle," said Daeghun, and although his voice didn't sound any different, she actually believed that he _was_ pleased to have her back. "Were you able to convince the people of Triel that you did not steal?"

"The last I saw," said Lucas, "they'd just taken you into that church. I couldn't follow after that, but I saw the militia leave so I came back here hoping to come up with a plan to rescue you whilst you were unguarded."

"Thank you," she said and looked around at her friends. "Thank you all for caring enough to plan my rescue. As for how and why they set me free... do you remember I told you about how I was raised by priests when I was younger, before I went to live with my grandmother?" Everybody nodded. "One of the priests is here. The man who raised me... Eldon. He was like a father to me. In fact, he _was_ a father to me, in every way that counted. He's the Dawnlord of the church. He explained that there had been a misunderstanding, that somebody whose eyesight is failing them thought he saw me take something from the bakery. When he realised who I was... he knew that I would never steal, so he let me go." It wasn't the truth, but it was as close to it as she could safely get, and her friends deserved nothing less. They deserved the full truth, but she could not yet bring herself to tell them.

"I'm so happy for you, Esmerelle," said Shayla. Her smile lit up her blue eyes. "To have found your father again after so long apart must be like a dream come true for you."

"Oh, it is." She could feel her own smile threatening to tear her face in half. "I'm going to prayer tomorrow at the church, to listen to his sermon, and then at night he's invited me to dinner so that we can talk, and catch up on everything we've missed in each others' lives."

"What's he like?" Kiree asked. "When do we get to meet him?"

"He's wonderful. And tomorrow night, maybe. I guess it depends on how long we talk for."

"We're all very pleased that you've found your father, Esme," said Lucas. "But may I make a suggestion?" She nodded. "You look as tired as we all feel. I recommend you make first use of the bath and then get straight to bed. A good night's rest in a warm room will do you the world of good."

She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. "Oh no!" she said, "I've been invited to dinner tomorrow but all my dresses are back in Scornubel. And I doubt I'm going to find one to buy in Triel."

"I would not worry, if I were you," said Shayla, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "The good thing about fathers is that they love their daughters no matter how they look. Yours is no different. I'm certain."

"What makes you so sure?"

Shayla smiled. "Because he raised you, and children often reflect their parents. I believe you have nothing to worry about. You will have a wonderful day tomorrow, and hopefully many more to come."

o - o - o - o - o

The morning was crisp and clear, and Esmerelle walked with a spring in her step down the main road of Triel. Her boots had been polished to a shine and she was wearing the change of clothes she had brought with her from Scornubel; her grey trousers were warm and tailored to fit, and her green shirt, whilst not in her preferred colour, was at least clean and smelt of the lavender flowers she used in her pack to keep her clothes smelling fresh between journeys. Over the top she wore her coat, and under her arm she carried her prayer-book. It wasn't the book Eldon had given her - that had been lost to the river when she had fallen in during the first summer with her friends - but it was another old copy with its spine bent and creased from use. She could have bought a new one, to replace the one she lost, but an old one seemed more... right.

This morning, the village seemed less drab, the villagers less despondent. They watched her warily as she passed, falling silent when she approached and not continuing their conversations until she was further down the road, but their faces seemed warmer and brighter. She knew it was probably just her own high emotions colouring her view of the place. Yesterday, when she had arrived, she had been cold, tired and hungry, and as a result the village and its inhabitants had seemed cold and unfriendly. Today, well-rested, well-fed and wearing a warm, clean pair of clothes, she couldn't help but smile, and look for the goodness and beauty in everything around her.

When she reached the church of Lathander, she found Theore standing in the entry-way with a fair-haired, freckled, teenage boy by his side, greeting guests and handing out prayer books to those who did not have their own. When he saw her approach, he offered her a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was more than the villagers and the innkeeper had offered, so she returned it warmly.

"Fair morning to you," she said, offering him a small curtsey.

"And to you, Esmerelle. I'm sorry for my words last night... the Dawnlord asked me to test you, he believed you were somebody else masquerading as you, apparently, but after you left he came to me and explained to me that you are genuine. And that you used to be one of his acolytes?"

"That's right. He's a good teacher."

"This is Tiny," he said, indicating the boy beside him. The name puzzled her; the boy wasn't tiny at all. In fact, he was taller than her, and almost as tall as Theore. And judging by the looks of him, he still had plenty of growing to do. "He's my acolyte. I took him in a couple of years ago when he folks were killed by bugbears."

"My real name is Marko," said the boy, in a voice that was verging on breaking. "But I've always been big for my age, so everyone calls me 'Tiny'."

"Which would you prefer me to call you?" she asked.

He shrugged. "To be honest, everyone's called me Tiny for so long that sometimes I forget Marko is my real name. Probably best to stick with my nickname. Less confusing for other people, too."

"Well met, Tiny." She offered him her hand. "My name is Esmerelle. I too was an acolyte like you. I was taken in by the priests when I was just six years old, and trained until I was fourteen."

"I'm fourteen next year," he grinned. "But why were you only trained until then? Didn't you become a full priest?"

She was saved from having to answer by Theore. "Let Esmerelle go inside before the sermon starts, Tiny," he admonished. Then he turned to her. "Dawnlord Eldon asked me to save you a seat... though I am afraid it is at the back of the church. You need to be up well before Lathander to get a front seat in the church these days. Just go on in, he'll be starting soon."

Esme thanked them both and passed them, stepping quietly into the prayer hall. As Theore had said, all of the benches were full, save the last seat on the last bench. She slipped into it quietly with an apologetic glance for the man forced to sit next to her, and took out her prayer book. Opening it up, she held it up in front of her and pretended to read as she glanced around the room. It was something Lucas had shown her how to do; pretend to be engrossed in one thing, he said, and people will forget you are there. You will become invisible to them, and cease to exist until you make your presence known.

The people around her spoke in hushed whisper, and she struggled to pick out any threads of conversation. It was too bad she didn't have Shayla or Daeghun's ears; elven hearing was superior to that of humans. And although she knew spells and could make potions to enhance her size, strength and sight, she had yet to learn of any magical means of augmenting her hearing. Instead she fell to visually inspecting the people seated in front of her, and after a few minutes she smiled to herself. The majority of the men in the room looked tired and bored, as if they had had to drag themselves out of bed to come to church. The women were bright-eyed and eager - a strange comparison to their behaviour on the streets, but Esme had seen similar before.

Whenever Eldon gave a lecture in the temple, the young female acolytes had been the ones at the front of the room, watching him avidly and often with adoring gazes. What her father thought of all the attention she did not know; she suspected he was oblivious to it. Knowing him, he probably thought it was his words, and the subject being discussed - always Lathander - that was captivating his audience. The people in this room, Esme surmised, were here for different reasons. The women were here to watch a good looking man talk passionately about a subject. The men were here to keep an eye on their wives. Where all the children were, she had no idea.

An expectant hush draped over the room, silencing every voice, and Esme lowered her prayerbook in time to see Eldon enter. He was wearing full priest robes, as Theore had done the night before. But where Theore's robes drowned him, Eldon's fit snugly. Where the robes had been the most obvious thing about Theore, they only served to highlight Eldon's features; his height, his build, and the dark combination of his hair and eyes. Was it her imagination, or did a smile ghost across his lips when he caught sight of her?

"Please turn to page eighty five," he said, and there was a whisper of sound as a room full of books were opened. Esme glanced at the first paragraph. _Show kindness to thine sons and daughters. Seek not to punish bad behaviour but explain why it is wrong. To beat a child is to strip it of its innocence and breed anger and resentment in its heart. Teach with open heart and open mind, and speak only the truth, for children will believe a lie more readily than their parents, and they will carry that lie with them forever. Cherish your sons and daughters, and thee shalt be rewarded with respect and loyalty. All children are blessed of Lathander, for they are the future, and the future is theirs._

She wondered if he had chosen this page for her. Was there some meaning in it which she was meant to divine? She wanted to think so, but she could not be sure without asking him. When the page was turned, she focused her attention back to the sermon and listened to the words her father spoke.

o - o - o - o - o

After the sermon had ended, Theore and Tiny began extinguishing the candles in their sconces around the room, and Elden went out into the entry-way to thank the parishioners for their attendance. Esme let everybody else file out before her. Not that she had much choice. There was a sedate stampede as women rushed towards the church entrance, occasionally employing their elbows to get past beleaguered husbands. As the last of the locals left, Esme tagged onto the back of the group, and when she finally came face to face with him, he greeted her with a smile.

"I worried you might not come," he admitted. "Part of me feared that you might be overwhelmed by everything that happened yesterday, that you might run away during the night."

"Sorry, but you're stuck with me," she smiled. "I enjoyed your sermon today. It's been so long since I attended church... I think the last time was back in Waterdeep, over three months ago."

"I'm sure Lathander understands that your circumstances are... unique. Being an... adventurer, and always on the move, it must be difficult for you, finding a temple you can worship in." She nodded, but said nothing. Having spent the better part of two years around Lucas had taught her a thing or two about listening to what people said... and the words they _didn't_ say. Eldon was referring to more then her adventuring lifestyle being a barrier to her faith. "But we can talk about all of this, and more, tonight," he continued. "I'll come and collect you from the inn at sun-down, if that is alright with you."

"We're not eating in the inn?"

Eldon pulled his face. "It's hardly a private venue, the innkeeper is rude and the food is terrible. No, we'll be eating here, in the church, and I'm cooking. So make sure you keep your appetite free for tonight."

"I remember you always were a good cook," she smiled. "Until sunset, then." She left the church and hurried along the main road back to the inn. She had promised her friends that she would come straight back after prayer, and she didn't want to unduly worry them. Not after everything that had happened so recently.

When she reached the inn she pushed the door open and stepped inside, relishing the warm of the common room after the bitter cold of the fresh air. Daeghun, Shayla, Belvar, Duncan and Kiree were seated around the same table eating a light lunch that seemed to be comprised of some sort of meat and slices of cheese. When Kiree saw her, she dropped her knife and fork and jumped up from her seat.

"You're back!" she said, for some reason feeling the need to state the blatantly obvious. Then she dashed to the foot of the stairs. "She's back!" she yelled up the staircase.

"What's all the yelling in aid of?" Esme asked, taking a seat beside Belvar.

"We have something for you," Kiree grinned. "A present. It was mostly my idea. Lucas helped a little. Just wait until you see it, you're going to _die_."

"Not literally," said Daeghun drily.

"Ooh, close your eyes!"

"But-" she began.

"Close them, or no present for you!"

She sighed and closed her eyes, wondering what crazy antics her friends had been up to whilst she was away. But she didn't have to wonder for long. She heard someone, most likely Lucas, descend the stairs, and then Kiree gave her permission to open her eyes. When she did, she found herself looking at one of the most beautiful red dresses she had ever seen. Long flowing sleeves culminated in a dash of white lace around the wide cuff, and were attached at the top to a red bodice that depicted, in beautiful golden thread, a bird rising in flight. The skirt of the dress was long, sweeping the ground, and fell in panels which displayed a gold under-skirt when they swayed. Even in Silverymoon, where almost every citizen was fashion-conscious, the dress would have garnered attention for its wearer. Here, it was an extravagance she could never have imagined.

"It's so beautiful!" she said at last. "But where in Faerûn did you find it?"

"Right here, in Triel," explained Kiree. "I know how badly you wanted a dress for dinner tonight, so I figured there's got to be _somebody_ here with a nice dress they're willing to sell. So we went to the baker and asked if he knew of any women who might be looking to sell an item or two of clothing, and he said no, but if we checked with the blacksmith, the smith might be able to put us in touch with-"

"Suffice it to say," Lucas interruped, "we've spent a very long three hours tramping around the whole of Triel looking for this."

"It turns out that one of the guys here used to be married to an out-of-towner, a woman from Baldur's Gate who had a bit of wealth. She came to live here with him but quickly got fed up of village life, so she left him and ran off with a travelling gem merchant. The guy here had burnt a lot of her clothes, but as this was her favourite dress he'd kept it, hoping that one day she might come back to get it, then he could tear it up in front of her to see her cry. A real love-story. Anyway, Lucas and I managed to convince him to part with the dress for a small fee. So now, it's yours."

"Thank you," she said, wrapping one arm around Lucas and another around Kiree. "Thank you so much. I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me."

"No trouble at all," Lucas assured her.

"And you absolutely have to let me do your hair for tonight," Kiree added.

"I will. Thank you again. Eldon will be coming by at dusk to pick me up. He said he's cooking something... I can't wait."

"If you're going to start crying again, you better get this dress upstairs first," Lucas warned. "I didn't spend three hours in the cold just to have you ruin it with your tears before you've even worn it."

Esme took the dress gratefully and carried it up to her room. Lucas knew her too well. She _was_ tearing up again, but only because she felt lucky to have such wonderful friends. And now that she had a nice dress to wear, she felt even happier about dining with Eldon. Between her friends and her father, she felt that nothing could ever go wrong in her life again.

o - o - o - o - o

As the sun began to kiss the horizon, Duncan gestured for the bartender to pour him another ale. It had been a long, boring day. All Esmerelle had talked about was her father. _Eldon this_ and _Eldon that_, and Kiree had done nothing but encourage her. Honestly, was some alternative conversation a little too much to ask for? He had tried arguing with both Lucas and Belvar, but his heart hadn't really been in it. Plus the girly giggling had been putting him off. At least things were a little quieter, now. Esme had gone upstairs to get ready for dinner, and Kiree had only just returned from doing her hair.

There was no sign of Eldon yet, but the sun was only just beginning to set. In a way, Duncan felt sorry for the old guy. If Esme was just going to talk about dresses and shopping all night he was hardly going to be in for a fun-filled dinner. Not that Duncan knew much about priests, but he _did_ know that most of them weren't big on shopping, or hair care, or new shoes. They tended to fall into two categories; greying and quiet, rather bookish and occasionally rambling, or fanatical lunatics so enthralled by their gods that they saw almost nothing else. Esme hadn't described Eldon as being a fanatical lunatic, so he probably fell into the former category. Grey. Quiet. Boring. Just like everybody else in Triel.

The door of the inn opened and a tall, good looking human man entered the common room. His eyes scanned the room and settled on Duncan at the bar. Great. This was probably one of the merchants, come to tell him that the group from Scornubel were ready to return, and right in the middle of his ale, too. That would be just like those bloody merchants, always thinking of themselves before others. Was it too much to ask, to be allowed to finish a pint of ale in peace?

"Excuse me," said the man, "but I'm looking for Esmerelle. I'm supposed to be meeting her here, though I'm running a few minutes late. She hasn't left, has she?"

Duncan looked at the man, and blinked. If he thought he was supposed to be meeting Esme, he was in for a disappointment. Tonight she was meeting with her fa... oh. Duncan stared at the stranger. This man was taller than him by half a head, and at least ten years younger than him. Maybe even twenty. And he looked like he'd been chiselled from stone by some over-enthusiastic Sunites hoping to create the perfect man.

"_You're_ Esme's father?" he asked. "_You're_ a _priest_?" Where was the graying hair and the receding hairline? Where was the bookishness, or the religious rambling? Could the gods get any crueller right now?

"That is so not fair!" he heard Kiree hiss to Shayla, though he doubted that the humans in the room heard the halfling's words. His hearing might not be as sharp as that of his brother, but it was still better than human hearing.

"Well, originally I was a knight," the man said. "I was a member of The Order of the Aster until the end of the Time of Troubles, at which point I was raised as a full priest and decided to devote my time to teaching." Yes, it seemed the gods _could_ get crueller.

"The Order of the Aster?" Lucas asked, sidling up in a crab-like fashion. "They're an elite group of warriors, paladins and clerics dedicated to Lathander. You must be very gifted, to have been chosen to join them."

Eldon shrugged. "I simply carry out the Morninglord's work. Any gifts I possess have been granted by him, so that I can do his bidding and act as a force of good in his name. Lathander tells us to guard ever against pride. It is a dangerous thing."

"Of course, of course. Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Lucas, and I am a friend of your daughter. I would just like to say that it has been a pleasure knowing her and travelling with her. She is a rare treasure, and I have never seen anybody so dedicated to helping others, especially where healing is concerned. She has a natural gift and a sympathetic soul." Duncan rolled his eyes and took another swig of his ale. Lucas could be such a carrion-crawler at times.

"Hi!" Duncan looked down to find Kiree smiling up at Eldon. Just great. "My name's Kiree Quickhands, and I'm Esme's best friend. She's so excited about dinner tonight, it's all she's talked about all afternoon. Just out of curiosity, how old _are_ you, exactly?"

"Kiree," said Shayla, a warning note in her voice. "Go and tell Esmerelle that her father is here." When the halfling had disappeared up the staircase, Shayla turned to Eldon and gave him a polite smile. Well, it was nice to see at least _one_ person not worshipping at the alter of Eldon. "Please forgive Kiree, she is easily excitable. I am Shayla Wolfsbane, this is my beloved, Daeghun Farlong, his brother Duncan Farlong, and our long time companion Belvar Stoneshield." She offered him her hand, which he took and shook as he eyed her clothes and her tattoos. Duncan grinned to himself. Shayla always had that effect on people.

"Thank you all for your greetings," said Eldon. "I'm glad that my daughter has found so many like-minded companions to travel with." He turned to Duncan, and offered his hand, and Duncan was so surprised by the gesture that he shook it before he even remembered he was fed up of everything to do with Eldon. "Esmerelle hasn't told me much about you, yet, but I just want you to know that I'm not here to make things difficult between you and her. I know you care for her a great deal, and I don't want to take her away from you, or come between you. Not after everything you've done for her."

"Well, uh, that's good to know," Duncan replied. He felt lost for words. Brutal honesty was not something he had been expecting from the priest, and it came as a surprise. "We're all very fond of her."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," said Esme as she descended the staircase.

Duncan's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. He had half expected Kiree to have done something silly with Esme's hair, like piling it all on top of her head so that she'd be forced to balance it ridiculously all night. But all she'd done was plait it loosely behind her head, exposing the curve of her neck and shoulders. The red dress fit as if it had been made for her, and he was glad to see a sensible, modest neckline. None of that low-cut nonsense that Kiree usually tried to force her into. Somehow, the halfling had also managed to find a pair of red slippers. They didn't quite match the colour of the dress, but they looked a hell of a lot better than her walking boots would have done.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought Esme looked beautiful. Eldon stepped forward and offered her his hand, helping her down the last of the stairs. Duncan rolled his eyes again. Esme was perfectly capable of climbing down stairs by herself. She'd been doing it for longer than he'd known her.

"If I had to wait another hour, it would be worth it to see you looking so radiant," Eldon told her, and she blushed. She actually blushed, like some... some young woman who blushed. He shook his head. Maybe he shouldn't have had those three pints of ale earlier. His thoughts weren't quite clear enough to form themselves coherently anymore.

"I should introduce you to my friends," Esme said, gesturing around the room, though she didn't take her eyes off Eldon's face.

"We already did all of that," Shayla said. "You go. Talk. Have a wonderful evening."

"And have her back by midnight!" Duncan added.

"We should probably go now," Eldon told Esme. "The food's ready, it's sitting warm in the oven, but if we leave it too long it will dry out."

"I'll just grab my coat, then," she replied.

"You won't need it. We'll only be outside for a few moments. I have the dining room warmed for when we get back."

Duncan felt suddenly excluded. It was as if a bubble had popped up around Esme and her father; neither one of them was paying attention to anybody else, as if the whole world consisted entirely of the two of them. The feeling persisted for a few moments even after Eldon had led Esme out of the inn by her hand, and the moment was filled with silence.

"Well," said Belvar, clearing his throat and interrupting the spell. "That was... weird."

"I don't know," Lucas said evasively, "I think he seemed like quite a nice young man."

Shayla tapped her chin thoughtfully with her finger. "I didn't think Esmerelle's father would be so..."

"Young?" Duncan offered.

"Handsome?" grinned Kiree

"Charismatic?" asked Lucas.

Shayla shook her head after each. "No. Well, yes, those as well. But more like... touched."

"What, in the head?" said Duncan.

"No. Touched by some sort of power. I don't know what power exactly, but that man has at least one spirit guarding him. Or at the very least, watching him. I felt it, as he shook my hand."

"Esme's gonna have a great night," Kiree grinned.

"Great," echoed Duncan. He took a small pile of copper coins from his pocket and dumped them on the bar. "Barkeep, another ale please."

o - o - o - o - o

Esme studied Eldon as he opened the church door and escorted her inside. Tonight he was wearing a dark orange shirt, almost brown in colour, with plain grey trousers and sensible shoes for walking around in the snow. Not like her own slippers, which were now cold and thoroughly wet. But it was her own fault. She had chosen vanity over function, and now she would just have to live with her choice. She could survive a few hours of cold feet, to look nice for her first proper meal with her father in over seven years.

The inside of the church was dark, with most of the candles in the prayer-hall unlit. There was just enough light to see by, and she followed Eldon down the aisle, towards the same office he had seen her in the night before. Was that to be their dining room, then? If so, it would be awkward. There was only one large desk, but it was blocked off on three sides, there was only enough room at it for one person to comfortably sit.

He took her into the office, which was also dimly lit, but then to her surprise, he drew back the curtain at the rear of the room and invited her to step through. What she found on the other side was a small dining room and kitchen, with a bed in the far corner and a door set into the opposite side of the room. The dining table was smaller than the desk, but there was ample room for two, and two chairs had already been placed at it. The room was lit by the light of candles and the main hearth, in which a fire burned merrily.

"Please, be seated," he said, and gestured towards the table. "I'm sure it's not as glamourous as you're used to, but I still know how to make good food."

She took a seat at the table and watched as he opened the oven and, using a reinforced glove, took out two trays, one filled with roasted vegetables cooked in herbs and oil, and the other containing thick slices of beef.

"Is something wrong?" he asked when he saw her watching the trays.

"I just... Eldon, how can you have such nice food, when the villagers have so little?"

"Do you mean to ask, how can I live with my conscience, eating nice food when the villagers do not, or how do I logistically manage to have such a fine selection whilst some of the villagers make do with simpler fare?"

"The latter," she said weakly. "Maybe a little of the former, too."

"Come here," he said, putting down the trays and holding out his hand. "I'll show you." He led her to the door on the far side of the room and opened it. A blast of chill air hit her skin, and made her shiver. But Eldon ignored the cold, and took her several steps outside, back into the icy snow. "Here. This is how I do it." He gestured out at the ground in front of him. It was the empty vegetable patch she had seen from the front of the church the night before, only now she saw that it was much larger than she had originally guessed.

"But I thought very little grew in this area, other than a few fruit trees?"

"Very little does grow here, but where there is a will, there is a way. When I first came here, I was determined to make changes. I had three barges full of soil imported from the delta outside of Baldur's Gate. It is good, fertile soil. One one third I grow beans and peas and pulses and lentils. The second third is given to roots and bulbs, such as potatoes, carrots and onions. On the last third I grow clover, and graze a couple of goats on it. The goats provide us with milk, and therefore cheese. In autumn, I plough the clover back into the soil, so it returns the goodness and nutrients to the earth. I harvest the food that I grow and put it into cold storage in a cellar deep beneath the church. Anything that is too damaged by pests to be fit for consumption I feed to the pigs that I keep in a sty around the back of the church, along with a coop full of chickens, for their feathers, their eggs and their meat.

"I wanted to show the villagers that there is still hope for them. I wanted to show them that different foods _can_ be made to grow here, that all it takes is some effort. They could start with clover - over time, it returns the goodness to depleted soil. I don't know how, or why, but I learnt that from a priestess of Chauntea some years ago. But the villagers... they're so stubborn!" His voice became... not angry, but filled with regret. "They're so steeped in tradition. They do things because things have always been done a certain way. They tend to their orchards but they have no interest in digging, planting and harvesting. Farming, to them, is something to be avoided. They would rather cling to their old ways and risk starvation than try something new and risk failing.

"I'm making some head-way with the children. They learn more easily, and are more willing to try new things. In the spring, they help to plant the crops. In summer they help to keep away the birds and the slugs, and in autumn they help with the harvest. I think some of them are coming around to my way of thinking. Some of them actually enjoy the work, enjoy seeing something they have sown grow into a productive plant. So, that's the logistical aspects. As to my conscience... If I gave every villager something from my stores, everybody would get, perhaps, a couple of carrots, a potato, and a handful of peas and beans. It would give them one meal, and then there would be nothing left. We would all be right back to where we started, with no food, and throwing the carcass of some poor creature on that awful shrine of theirs.

"Or I can feed myself. I can feed Theore, and Tiny, with enough to see us through the winter. Anything that rots I give to the pigs, and in the spring they give us piglets. I can feed the three of us, so I do. And once every tenday all the children in the village come here, and we have a communal meal. They come and they take part in, what is to them, a feast. They deserve to eat because they help to grow and care for the vegetable patch. So, Esmerelle, before you start feeling guilty about eating the food I've cooked, remember that the villagers, too, could be eating as we do here in the church. All they have to do is try. All they have to do is get up a couple of hours earlier in the mornings, get their hands a little dirty, and actually make an effort, instead of wasting their time beseeching Malar. I've tried to change their ways, and I'll keep trying for as long as it takes. But until spring comes, it's out of my hands."

"I'm sorry for questioning you," she said contritely. She should have known that her father had his reasons. It was just like him to be practical. Some priests of Lathander could be a little _too_ whimsical at times. Some priests might have distributed the contents of the vegetable garden to the whole of the village. But such actions would have given the villagers little impetus to change. If they could see, though, how well their children were being fed, they might eventually decide to contribute, to take up farming as a way of sustaining themselves and becoming less reliant on the merchants and traders who came to their town.

"It's okay, you weren't to know what it's like around here. But look at you, you're shivering. I'm sorry I brought you out here for so long. It was thoughtless of me. Come inside. Get warmed up, and we can start our meal."

She followed him back into the dining room, into the blessed heat of the church, and Eldon closed the door once they were both inside. When she was once more seated at the table, he placed a plate in front of her, followed by a knife and fork. The aroma of the food was overpowering, and she suddenly found herself glad she'd skipped lunch. It would make dinner all the more enjoyable.

"Would you like some wine with your meal?" he asked, holding up a clear bottle of yellow liquid.

As she looked at the bottle, she recalled Ali's words. _He started drinking, whether to quiet the anger or drown his sorrows and his guilt, I do not know. I left the temple almost two years ago, after my training was complete. By that time, Eldon was seen as something of an embarrassment. An example of how a good priest can go over the edge if he's not in control of himself. The acolytes would whisper behind his back, making up stories of what had driven him to drinking throughout the daylight hours. Just before I left, there was talk of sending him away somewhere, to a church in some backwater village far away where he could spend the rest of his days drinking amongst people who wouldn't care._

This **was** that far-away backwater village, she realised. Eldon **had** been sent away. He'd been sent here, to Triel, because his superiors thought this place too insignificant to care about. But clearly, something had changed. The way Eldon spoke, the way he moved, the things he said... he didn't seem like a man broken, made hollow and empty by sorrow and grief. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and she realised she had been staring at the bottle. "It's not watered down, if that's what you're worried about. I think you're more than old enough to drink wine now."

She wanted to smile and say that nothing was wrong, that yes, she'd like some wine. It would help her to relax. But if what Ali had said was true, and Eldon had turned to drink to drown his guilt, then surely drinking was the worst possible thing for him to do right now. How could she sit there and enjoy a meal and his company if she was worrying over him taking up a bad habit again?

"It's not that," she said, deciding total honesty would be best. A fresh start for both of them. "Earlier in the year, I saw Aliya. She's a full priest now. We talked, briefly, and she told me everything that had happened at the temple after I ran away."

"Ah," he said, and sat down in his chair, putting the wine to one side of the table. "And here I thought we'd be able to start our meal before it got cold."

"I'm sorry if I've ruined your plans for the evening," she said, truly regretting bringing the subject up.

"When you left," he said, "that was a very dark time for me, Esmerelle. The first few years you were gone, I changed. If you've spoken to Ali, I probably don't need to repeat the things you've already heard. I was angry, upset and foolish. After a time, I turned to drink. Not because I particularly liked it, but because it was the most effective way to stop thinking and feeling and hurting. All of that changed when I came here, but that's another story. I'm quite capable of drinking the occasional glass of wine, now, without feeling the need to keep drinking. I didn't like the life I had, and alcohol made that life go away. But I like the life I have here. It's rewarding. Yes, it's frustrating at times, and lonely. Always lonely. But I'm not about to go off the rails again. Not when I finally found somewhere I can be content. Not when I finally have you back."

"Then yes, I'd like some wine, please," she said, relieved by his words. "But just one glass. I had hangover once before, and I never want to repeat that experience."

"You always were a fast learner," he smiled. He uncorked the bottle and poured a glass of wine, first for her and then for himself. Then he gestured at the food. "Anything else you want to drop on me before we eat?"

"No, but I'm sorry if it's started to go cold." She transferred some of the meat and vegetables onto her plate, and experimentally poked one of the carrots with her fork. It was cooked just how she liked them; not so raw that they were crunchy, but not so cooked that they were beginning to turn mushy.

They ate in silence for several minutes, and Esme sipped her wine. It was sweet and strong, and reminded her of one she had tried in Waterdeep. For a moment she had the urge to tell the tale; it was during one of the festivals that she had tried the wine, and Kiree had claimed that the liquid was also used as an aphrodisiac, though Esme had felt no such effects. Then she remembered that Eldon hadn't been with her at the time. The story would likely be of little interest to him. Not when they had so much else to discuss.

As the silence stretched on, Esme began to feel more and more uncomfortable. The man she considered her father was practically a stranger to her, and she was equally as much of a stranger to him. Perhaps she should have insisted on dining in the inn, poor food and rude service or not.

"You're not enjoying your meal, are you?" he asked. She expected to see disappointment on his face, but she saw only speculation.

"The meal is perfect. Everything is cooked exactly the way I like it."

"Then it's my company you're not enjoying?"

"Please don't take this the wrong way," she said. "But there's so much I want to discuss, and I have no idea where to begin."

"Then let me start. The morning you ran away... how did you know to run when you did?"

"Your behaviour the night before was so strange and out of character," she explained. "When you went to your second meeting, I followed you. I listened to everything that was said, and I realised what it meant. I knew my life was about to change, but I didn't want to live in a cage. I've had enough of cages to last me a lifetime."

"You should have come to me. I would have helped you."

"In hindsight, maybe I should have gone to you. But I was little more than a child, and terrified for my life. I didn't think. I reacted. And had I gone to you, if we were caught, my punishment would have become your punishment. You didn't deserve that."

"You can't tell a man what he can and cannot do for his child," said Eldon darkly. "But I don't blame you for running. Like you said, you reacted. But where did you go? I looked everywhere for you, for years. I looked for so long that eventually I had to believe you were dead."

"I went to the High Forest. Do you remember coming across the house of a witch and her cat?"

"Yes, vividly. But how do you know about that?"

"Because whilst you were talking to the witch, I was hiding inside her house. I stayed there for years."

"You were there?" he said hoarsely. "You were so close that I could have reached out and touched you, held you... you were mere feet away from me, and I had no idea. If only we'd taken the witch up on her offer of tea." His voice was bitter, and he took a sip of his wine.

"Don't blame yourself. Aggie... Agatha... knew that you would never waste valuable time drinking tea with her. That's why she made the offer. She knew that if she tried to keep you out of the house, you would become suspicious, and maybe try to force your way in. She was an astute old woman."

"How did you even find her in the first place?"

Esme told him about the events leading up to her finding Aggie's cottage. She told him about wandering lost in the High Forest, about seeing the smoke from the chimney on the horizon. She told him about sneaking around the cottage, about Aggie and Kittykins and the fey. She told him about everything Aggie had taught her, all the spells she had learnt, the potions she had brewed, and how she had performed the funeral rites for the first time when Aggie died. Her story was punctuated with sips of wine and mouthfuls of food, and Eldon was entirely sympathetic to her plight. When she reached the part about how she had lived alone for years, taking care of herself and trading at the river, he looked sad.

"Nobody should have to live alone like that," he said. "I wish I had been there. I wish I'd kept looking for you."

"Perhaps Lathander did not want me to be found. Maybe I was supposed to be alone. But I wasn't alone for all the long. Not as long as you were."

He nodded, and she continued with her story, picking up with the tale of how a group of gnolls had stumbled across her, and she had fled from them. The next part of her story was happier, because it involved her friends. She told him about each and every one of them, and how they had all helped her to grow over the years. She recounted her first visit to a city, Everlund, and her journey to Silverymoon. She continued with the story of meeting Shayla's people in the Kryptgarden Forest, and how she had helped to thwart Eldreth Veluuthra's plans. She told him about Kalan'Tel, and how she thought Lathander wanted to free him from the cage. But she did _not_ tell him about her most intimate moments with the drow. That was not something her father would want to hear, she suspected. It was not something _any_ father would want to hear.

"It sounds like you were put in a difficult situation," Eldon said, after she had described freeing the drow, and how he had later saved her life. "On the one hand, your friend Shayla is right. The drow are dangerous, murderous beasts. But we are not adherents of Helm, you and I. We do not believe that evil is always evil, and good is always good. Lathander teaches us that people can change, though not always for the better. If the drow you rescued truly did want to change, to break away from the cruelty of his people, then you did a good thing in freeing him. You had doubts, but even though you doubted, you still did what you thought was right. Had I been there at the time, I would have supported your decision to free the drow."

"I'm glad you think I did the right thing," she smiled. "I remember the lessons you taught me, to show compassion to others and try to plant the seeds of hope and change."

As she finished her glass of wine, she resumed her tale, and told her father about all the adventures she and her friends had had, ending with the time they had spent in Scornubel, before coming to Triel. By the time she was finished her voice felt hoarse, but it felt good to have told her tale. There were some bits she had invariably missed out which she could tell later, as and when she remembered them, but for now, Eldon knew everything of significance that had happened to her.

"You've been through a lot," he said when she had finished. "You've travelled all over the Coast, and maybe even seem more of the world than I have. One thing I would like to know, though; you and your half-elven companion... Duncan?" She nodded. "Are you wed yet?"

"What?" she asked, totally shocked by the randomness of the question.

"If not, I've like to be there when you are. It's customary for the father of the bride to give his permission and be present."

"_What_? Duncan and I are not wed, and we're never going to be wed. I like him, he's a good friend, but nothing more."

"Ah," said Eldon, looking suitably embarrassed. He ran his hands through his hair and leant back in his chair. "Forgive me. When you arrived in Scornubel, I saw you walking together, with his arm around you. I may have jumped to conclusions."

"That wasn't a jump. That was a leap. I was just cold, and Duncan was warming me up. But we've never been... romantically involved. I don't think of him that way."

"That's a relief," Eldon laughed, and held up his hands defensively when he caught the questioning expression on her face. "Not that I don't like your friend, but I wasn't relishing giving him _the talk_."

"The talk?"

"Every father has to give _the talk_ to any suitor who shows an interest in his daughter. I think it involves some threats about what will happen if he ever mistreats her. At least, that's what I've heard. Nobody ever gave me a guide to raising children, so I had to make it up as I went along."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you did a wonderful job. And you don't need to worry about giving _the talk_ to Duncan. It would have been strange, anyway. He's quite a bit older than you, for a start."

"Thank you," he said, his eyes turning serious. "It means a lot to me, that you think I made a good father. It wasn't easy. Sometimes I worried that I wasn't showing you enough warmth and affection. Sometimes I worried that I was showing you too much. I tried so hard to balance what I thought was right, and what I thought was proper. I had to be careful. I couldn't show you favouritism even when we were alone, in case it became habit. I didn't want to give the other priests any reason to take you away from me."

"Why not?" she asked. She leant forward and rested her head in her hands, her elbows on the table. It was probably bad manners, but she didn't care. "Wouldn't it have been easier for you if I'd lived in the halls with the other acolytes? If you didn't have to raise me yourself, and have all these worries about what to do and how to act?"

He downed the last of his wine and stood up, walking towards the wall. There, he pulled back a small pair of curtains and looked out of the window into the darkness, at the tiny lights in the windows of the surrounding houses. She sensed that her question had caught him off-guard, or was causing him some sort of dilemma, and that he needed to think before he could reply. When he finally spoke, it was to the window, rather than to her.

"That's not an easy thing to answer. It's something I've thought about often, ever since I found you. And there are several aspects to my answer. I'd like you to listen without interrupting, because if I lose track of my thoughts I may not find them again."

"Okay," she said, and schooled herself to quietness."

"First and foremost, it was for selfish reasons. That night when we attacked Bhaal's temple, I had no reason to be where I was, so far from the centre of the fighting. But I thought I'd heard something, maybe a voice, maybe a trick of the wind, telling me to walk away. And the further I walked, the stronger the feeling became inside me that I was going the right way. I saw you being taken away from the temple, and I thought Lathander had sent me to stop the priest and save you. Afterwards, I came to believe that Lathander had given you to me. I believed, for some reason, that you were special. And because I'd been led to you, I thought that made me special, too. I thought that Lathander had some plan for you, and I hoped it might involve me in some way. So that's the selfish reason why I didn't want to lose you.

"On the other side of the scale, I never knew my own father. He left my mother just after I was born, and she died of some unknown sickness before I turned two. My grandmother raised me, and I grew up never knowing the love of my parents. When I found you, I thought maybe it was my chance to correct that. To give a child at least one parent who could love them and take care of them. Like I said before, I didn't know what things were expected of a father. Having never had one of my own, I had to muddle through. But I was determined to succeed. I wasn't going to become like my own father; a man who abandoned his child and the woman he claimed to have loved. I wanted better than that for me. I wanted better than that for you.

"And the last reason why I didn't want you to be taken away? When Albur and I found you, you were terrified. Even now I can remember your screams. I had no idea what to do with you. I'd never been around children before, had always spent my time training to fight and training for eventual priesthood. I was so at a loss. I picked you up and held you and spoke softly to you. And, for a wonder, you stopped screaming. It surprised me, that somebody could feel so comforted by my presence that their fears could melt away. Then later, when we left the battlefield, you sat so still in my arms, clinging onto me as you watched the world around you. From that moment on, I didn't want to let you go. I wanted to protect you and keep you safe. Something about you made me want to look after you and make sure nothing ever scared you again."

"You keep saying that you found me," she said, when Eldon had finished speaking. "But you didn't find me. You saved me. You shouldn't forget that."

"Did I save you? Or did Lathander save you, through me? Even now I don't know. I don't know if he has a plan for you, or me. Was our meeting here arranged by him, or all down to simple chance?"

She left the table and went to stand beside him, looking out at the view. But instead of the outside, she saw the room reflected behind her. So. Eldon hadn't been looking out at the village after all. He'd been watching her reaction to his words in the glass. She should have realised that with darkness fallen outside and the room lit up, the window behaved more like a mirror. It made her sad, that he felt the need to watch her like that.

"We could spend the rest of our lives speculating about whether Lathander sent you to rescue me, and whether he arranged our meeting here, and to what end," she said. "But I think we aren't supposed to understand these things. I think that is what faith is all about. Keeping going, even when you're unsure and doubtful. And I don't think we mortals are supposed to understand the motives of gods. If we spent all our time speculating, we wouldn't be truly living our lives."

"Where did you learn to be so wise?" he smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

"I had an excellent teacher," she replied. She liked his eyes, when he was smiling. They were warm and alive, and fires danced within their depths. Then she shook her head at the strangeness of her own thoughts. "I mean Lucas, of course," she added.

"Do your friends know?" There was no mistaking what he meant.

She shook her head. "No, I've never felt the need to tell them. And I'd prefer to keep it that way. I will tell them eventually, when the time is right, but I don't want to rush in to it."

"I won't say a word to them," he assured her. "But how do you think they'll react?"

"I don't know." She sighed, and let her gaze return to the window, to the reflected room which shone warmly and brightly, defying the coldness of winter. "Sometimes I think they'll be hurt because I didn't trust them enough to tell them sooner. Sometimes I think they'll understand. Sometimes I think they might be afraid of me, and what I might become."

"Do you... do you ever feel the taint within you?" he asked.

"Is that why you invited me to dinner? To check if I'm becoming the embodiment of evil and murder?"

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't part of the reason. But not the whole reason, no. Not even the biggest part of it. But I have to know, Esme. I have to know if you're feeling the taint, or seeing visions, or hearing voices. I have to know if you feel a desire to kill, some urge driving you forward, towards violence." He used his fingers to turn her head back towards him and turn her face so that he could look in her eyes. "Please be honest with me. I won't love you any less. I will still be your father and I will do everything within my power to help and protect you. But I can't help you if I don't know the truth."

"I don't feel the taint," she said, meeting his eyes squarely, willing him to believe her. "I don't see things, I don't hear voices. I'm very careful. The only weapon I carry is a knife. I have a personal rule; I don't kill humans. I'm not saying I've never killed before. I have. I've fought against orcs and trolls and bugbears, and even the undead. And, once, I killed a man by accident, in self defence. I didn't mean to do it, and it weighed heavily on my conscience for a long time afterwards. I'm not foolish. I know the price of violence to those like me. But sometimes killing is required. Sometimes I have to fight monsters to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Does that allay your fears?"

"I'm sorry for forcing you to talk about it," he said. "It can't be easy for you, hiding all of this from your friends, worrying about what might happen to you but not having anybody to discuss your fears with."

"It hasn't been easy," she admitted. The gods only knew how much she wanted to be able to tell her friends the truth, to stop making excuses about why she didn't want to kill humanoids, to stop having to remember which half-truths about her past she had told them. "Sometimes, even when I'm with my friends, I feel like an outsider. I feel so alone because I have to hide the truth from them."

"You don't have to be alone anymore," he said, releasing her face and pulling her gently forward into a hug. "I'm here, and you don't have to hide from me. You never have to hide from me." For the umpteenth time that day, she felt her eyes brimming with tears. Though she tried to hold them back, she couldn't. It felt wonderful and freeing to finally have somebody she could be completely honest with, that she didn't have to lie to, or hide away from. Her tears soon became quiet sobs, and she cried herself dry onto her father's reassuring shoulder as he held her comfortingly as he had when she was a child.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, pulling herself out of his embrace and using her hands to wipe away her tears. "All I've done whilst we've been together is cry. I'm not usually so emotional, I swear."

"This sort of thing was so much easier when you were a little girl," he smiled sadly. "All I had to do when you were terrified of nightmares or monsters under your bed was give you a cuddle, tell you everything would be okay, and kiss your forehead. But you're not that little girl anymore."

She nodded. "And as much as I wish I could believe you if you tell me everything would be okay, I've seen too much of the world to know that isn't true. Everything's a lot simpler when you're young, and don't know any better."

"I meant what I said, though, Esmerelle. I'll help you in any way that I can. But for now, I think I've upset you quite enough for one night. I'll take you back to the inn, but would you care to have lunch with me tomorrow?"

"Don't you have a sermon in the morning?"

"No, Theore is leading the sermon tomorrow. We take it in turns."

"I'd like to listen to the sermon... and then we can have lunch, if you like."

"Sounds good. Now," he said, offering her his arm, "let's get you back to your friends before they start worrying where you are."


	30. High Hunt

Chapter 30.

High Hunt

"_Death is the dropping of the flower, that the fruit may swell."_ - Henry Ward Beecher

o - o - o - o - o

As he had the night before, Eldon escorted her to the Whispering Wind and bid her goodnight at the door. When she stepped inside the inn, eager to be out of the cold, she found the common room almost full. The hour was not yet late, and all of the farmers from Scornubel were enjoying a drink or two. They seemed a little more relaxed, today, less nervous and less prone to jumping at shadows. Esme found her friends at their usual table, and made her way over with a smile and a light step.

"How was your evening?" Belvar asked as she took the empty chair.

"Wonderful! The food was delicious and we talked about everything that happened to me after we parted ways."

"Didn't Sir Eldon deign to come inside and have a drink with us?" Duncan grumbled.

"Ignore him," said Shayla. "He's just grumpy because we cut him off."

"Why didn't you tell me your father was so deliciously handsome, Esme?" Kiree said, with a mock pout. "I am so jealous."

"He's my father, Kiree," she replied. "I don't think about what he looks like."

"Bet the feeling's not mutual," Duncan grumbled again, and Lucas elbowed him in the ribs.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" the bard asked her.

"Well, I was going to go to prayer in the morning. Theore, he's the other priest, is leading the sermon, and I'd like to listen to what he has to say. Then I'm having lunch with Eldon. I haven't planned for the evening yet."

"We were thinking of having dinner together tomorrow night. We haven't had a chance to sit down and eat together since we arrived in Triel, after all."

"You are, of course, quite welcome to invite your father," Daeghun added. "It will give us all a chance to know him a little better."

"I already feel like I know him really well," Duncan said.

"Alright, lad, it's past time you were in your bed," said Belvar. He stood up and prodded Duncan until the taller man complied, then shepherded him upstairs.

Esme yawned, feeling sleepy now that she was relaxing with her friends. She hadn't realised just how tense and excited she had been earlier, but now, with the tension draining from her body and mind, the sleepiness was slowly creeping in. She said goodnight to her friends and climbed the stairs. It would be nice to have an early night, to wake up as the sun was rising and watch the dawn before going to pray.

As she made her way down the corridor she heard voices, and stopped to listen outside Duncan's door, which sat ajar. Peering through the crack, she saw Duncan sitting dejectedly on the bed, and Belvar looking down at him.

"...just don't know what else I can do," Duncan was saying.

"There's nothing you _can_ do," Belvar replied. "You can't force somebody to feel a certain way, and if she doesn't feel that way about you by now, I doubt she ever will."

Feeling guilty over eavesdropping, she crept away, and into the room she shared with Kiree. They'd been talking about her. She knew that Duncan had feelings for her, and had known it for a long time, but it had never been a problem before. Why would Duncan suddenly be making an issue of it now? Ever since they had arrived in Triel, and she had found her father, he had become more sullen. But surely that could not be the reason, could it? Was he jealous about how much time she was spending with Eldon? But he was her father. What was there for Duncan to be jealous of?

Or was it more than that? Did Duncan fear that she might want to stay here, now that she had found her father again? Was he worried that she might not need her friends anymore, that she would opt to leave them for a life in Triel? And when it came down to it, how did _she_ feel about it? Yes, she was overjoyed that she had found Eldon, that he was back in her life. But could she stay here? Be happy here? Would he even _want_ her to? And if he did want her to, how could she ever leave him after everything she had put him through in the past?

She went to bed with some heavy and sobering thought on her mind. For the first time in her life, she felt her loyalties being split apart. On one had were her friends, who had taken her from the High Forest, welcomed her, shared everything they had with her, and made her life worth living. And on the other hand was Eldon, who had sacrificed so much for her already, who knew exactly who and what she was and loved her as only a father could in spite of it. She just didn't know what to do.

o - o - o - o - o

As before, the prayer hall was packed, only this time it was Eldon and Tiny greeting the worpshippers, as Theore prepared himself for the sermon. Eldon advised her with a wink that he'd saved her a seat, and she took the same one she had used last time. She was pleased, though, when he gave Tiny permission to sit beside her. It was nice to have somebody to whisper to before the sermon started.

After the sermon, which had been about the various different acts which were considered sinful by the church of Lathander, Esme did not leave with the rest of the crowd. Instead, Eldon escorted her into his office where they ate a lunch of bread, jam and cheese, washed down with milk that had been freshly taken from the goats that morning. As Esme ate, she looked around the room again, now that she knew it was Eldon's, and her eyes fell on the paintings. She walked to the picture of the woman and the child, and gestured at it.

"Was this your mother?"

"Yes," he replied. "Kailyn Elsegood was her name. My grandmother gave me this portrait before I died, and I put it into storage. It made me sad, to look at the mother I never knew. Too sad to hang it on the wall."

"What changed?"

"I realised that to let your past control you is to be trapped by it. I didn't want to be ruled by my past anymore. I wanted to live in the present, and think to the future."

She returned to the sofa, to sit beside him. "Is that what changed when you came here, to Triel?"

He nodded. "I suppose I owe you that story, at least, after everything you told me last night. As you already know, when you ran away I turned to anger, and then alcohol, to try to drown my grief. I knew what the others, the priests and the acolytes, were saying behind my back, but I didn't care. How could they possibly understand what I was going through? How could they possibly understand the guilt I felt over failing to protect you? Their opinions meant nothing to me. Less than nothing. I even stopped praying to Lathander. I think, in a way, I wanted to be forsaken and forgotten.

"I truly didn't care when they told me I was to come here and revitalise the church of Lathander in Triel. They even gave me a promotion to Dawnlord, believing I'd go more easily if I saw this assignment as a blessing, rather than what it was; me being swept under the carpet so nobody could see me. I think they only kept me around for as long as they did to serve as a lesson to the acolytes about the dangers of excess. When I first arrived, I didn't have an easy time of it. I was sober for the first time in ages, because I'd run out of alcohol on the journey from the temple. Theore didn't trust me an inch, and thought I'd been sent to replace him. He thought his years of dedicated service had gone ignored, and saw me as something of a rival.

"And the villagers! They came to me with every tiny little problem. I was asked to bless weddings, and babies, and, once, even a newborn lamb. Expectant mothers would seek me out for advice about birthing methods, and what foods were best to eat, and what activities were to be avoided. I had no clue about any of it, of course, and I've no idea why they came to me when the village has two other priests."

"Two?"

"Yes, the other is Nathaniel, the priest of Silvanus. He's out in the forest but he'll be back in a couple of days, in time for... well, that's not part of my story. Anyway, the people here kept me too busy to drink. And, when I was sober, I saw things more clearly. I started caring, started wanting to make a difference. That's when I started on the vegetable garden and bought the animals to keep. It's strange, though. Theore tells me that attendance in the church has been at an all time high, over the past year or two. He never had a packed prayer hall, before I arrived here. But even though the church is packed daily, and the people listen to my words, nothing changes. They go away and it's as if they haven't truly heard my sermons at all. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but at least the children are a little more open to the word of Lathander."

Esme fought back a grin. As she had suspected, Eldon was oblivious. Then, she was struck by another thought. "I know you were young when you took me in," she said, "but since then, have you never thought of settling down and doing it all properly? You know, getting married, raising a family of your own?"

"I can't say that I have. When I was younger, my grandmother encouraged me in my pursuit of knighthood. My time was taken up by training and learning to fight, and preparing myself for the day when I would also be accepted as a priest. The year after she died, I found you. I spent the next few years dedicating myself to teaching acolytes... and being wonderful father to you, of course."

"Of course," she grinned.

"Then when you left, I spent years being angry or drunk. Sometimes both. Those are hardly qualities that a woman looks for in a man. I had no time or desire to find someone to love and start a family with."

"I'm sorry you had to put your entire life on hold for me," she said, feeling guilty once more. She hadn't just caused Eldon pain, she had also caused him to put aside his own wants and to concentrate on raising her.

"Oh, it wasn't _entirely_ on hold. Do you remember Jaina, the priestess who came to stay at the temple for a couple of months?"

"Yes, I remember you invited her for dinner once or twi... oh." She felt her world rock a little as her adult mind reinterpreted the smiles and subtle conversation shifts between Eldon and their guest, that her child-self had completely overlooked at the time. "What, you... and her...?"

"Mostly while you were out of the house, working with the other acolytes."

"_Mostly_?"

He laughed at her expression. "I'm sorry, perhaps I shouldn't have told you that. It can't be easy, to realise that your father is just a man, with his own feelings and desires. Fortunately, that's a problem I never had. I just don't want you to feel guilty. And don't deny it, because I could see it on your face. You do a little frown thing when you think that you are to blame for something. I don't want you to think for one moment that I stopped living to take care of you. I didn't. You became the centre of my world, but the rest of it didn't stop entirely."

"So... you're not seeing anybody here, in the village? Intimately, I mean? I'm not going to suddenly be saddled with a step-mother?" She frowned. "Or a step-foster-mother. Whatever it would be."

"No." He shifted his seat on the sofa and leant backwards, relaxing into the cushions. "There's nobody here who excites me. The villagers can be polite enough, when they want to be, but they lack that vital spark of life. There's no fire in their souls, no creativity. They don't hold harvest fairs, here, or celebrate the first day of spring, or midsummer. The only ceremony they hold is dedicated to Malar, but that is a ceremony of death and blood, not of birth and life." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rant. All I meant was that I don't think I could bring myself to love somebody who does not have the spark of life within them. I don't want to look into a woman's eyes as I lie next to her and see them empty and devoid of the things that make us human... hope, love, warmth, compassion, and so forth. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do," she said, her mind captivated by his words. In her mind, she could see the villagers as he saw them, aloof and distant with their repetitive, stagnant grey lives.

"You and your friends are out of place here," he said. She heard his words, but try as she might she could not take her gaze away from his eyes. He seemed to be able to speak into her soul, and every word he spoke made sense in a way she could not fathom. "You're like little flowers of colour on a fire-stripped moorland. You have to be strong, to stay in this place. You have to know who you are and hold on to that knowledge or risk becoming like the villagers. Triel is a village that wears you down. It chips away at your soul bit by bit. Merchants who pass through here sense it, and never stay long."

Yes, she knew exactly what he meant! It was like the church itself, a bastion of warm candle light and hope, a lone pillar of light amongst towers of darkness. Where the houses were grey and washed out, the church was alive with colour, from the stained glass in its windows to the long curtains covering its alcoves and the seats on the benches. And at the heart of the church was Eldon, shining with an inner light, waking up every morning with hope that today would bring change, spending his daylight hours working to encourage growth, not only of the plants in his vegetable garden but in the hearts and minds of the people around him.

She wanted to tell him that his effort was slowly paying off, that Lathander himself was in this place, that she could feel the light of the Morninglord touching the church, touching her father, touching her. But how could mere words, weak things that came out of her mouth, convey all of that? Words were flawed, restricted, and though they could describe an item in incredible detail, they could say less than a touch or even a look.

"Esme?" She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "You should go back to your friends now."

She nodded again, and stood. Then she remembered something Daeghun had said. "Dinner. I mean, my friends and I are having dinner together tonight. In the inn. You can come. They said it would be okay. They'd like to get to know you better."

"Thank you for the offer, but I have some tasks I need to complete here in the church," he said. "But I'll see you in the prayer hall tomorrow morning, won't I?"

"Yes, of course," she smiled. Whatever strangeness she had been feeling moments earlier seemed to have passed, now, and she finally felt her usual self. She said goodbye and left, thankful that he didn't suggest escorting her back to the inn. She wanted some time to be alone, to think about what she had felt.

As she passed through the prayer hall and out into the cold day, she wondered why the Morninglord should choose to bless _this_ church, of all places. Surely there were many magnificent temples he could choose from; he was worshipped throughout the realms by millions of people, after all. Of course, she was working off the presumption that she _had_ felt the Morninglord's presence. She'd never had a religious experience like this before. For all she knew, it could have been a reaction to the cheese she'd eaten for lunch.

She was no closer to an answer when she reached the inn and entered the building. Inside, the common room was thrumming, with anticipation and excitement almost palpable in the air. The farmers were coming and going up and down the stairs in twos and threes, and at her friends' table, only Daeghun, Shayla and Lucas were present. She smiled as they approached them, but her smile froze when they did not return the gesture.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Sit down, Esmerelle," said Shayla.

"I don't want to sit," she said defiantly. "Please tell me what's happening. What's gotten into the farmers, and where are the others?"

"One of the merchants came to see us, while you were out," said Lucas, and Esme felt her heart sink. She knew what was coming next. "Now that they've checked the shoes of all the mules and rested the beasts, they're ready to leave. They've asked us to escort them back to Scornubel in the morning."

"But... that's too soon! I need more time!"

"We cannot turn them down, Esmerelle," said Daeghun. "They will not survive the journey without us. The bugbears would be on them almost instantly. They are relying on us to keep them safe. Many are missing their families. And more, we must take Duncan away from here. Being in this place does him no good."

"You don't have to come with us," said Shayla. "We will only be a day's journey away."

"I... I need to talk to Eldon," she said, standing and re-fastening her coat.

Her friends did not try to stop her, and she made her way in a dream-like state back to the church of Lathander. The prayer hall was still empty, and she made her way silently to Eldon's office. She knocked, and waited for his call to enter before opening the door. He was seated behind his desk reading something on paper, but the moment he saw her he stood up and approached her.

"Esmerelle, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"My friends..." she said, her voice feeling choked by the tears that wanted to flow. "The merchants want to leave in the morning."

"I thought they might," he sighed. "Earlier, one of them asked me to bless his mules for the journey home. Your group will be escorting them, I take it?" She nodded. "Do you have to be in the group? You could stay here for a while. There's so much for us still to talk about. And Scornubel is just down the road. I could take you back there, to meet up with your friends, once you're bored of my company."

"You... want me to stay?"

"Of course. Two days worth of conversation can't make up for seven years worth of absence."

"I've never been without my friends before. Not since I left the High Forest."

"I know. But they'll only be a day's journey away." He sighed, and squeezed her shoulder. "It's up to you. I would be overjoyed if you stayed a while longer, but I'll understand if you feel the need to leave with your friends. Now that I know you're alive and well... it will be easier saying goodbye this time, because I will at least get to _say_ goodbye."

It was then she realised that she wasn't ready to say goodbye to her father, that she couldn't leave so soon after finding him. Whilst winter was gripping Faerûn, her friends would not travel far, certainly not further away than Elturel, and they wouldn't leave her. When it was time to move on, if she had not returned to them, they would come back for her. But it would be lonely, without Kiree to talk to and gossip with, without Lucas to go to for advice, without Shayla to sit with and discuss potions and plants, without Duncan to merrily point out details of everything around her, without Belvar to discuss books and history with, or Daeghun to... be Daeghun.

"I'll stay," she agreed, and he gave her a warm smile. "I need to go and tell my friends. And I'm sorry, but I won't be able to make it to prayer in the morning. I would like to see my friends off, and say goodbye properly to them."

"I understand perfectly. I'll come and find you at lunch time, then."

"Alright. But now I need to go and explain this to my friends. Until tomorrow."

She hurried from the church and back to the inn, trotting down the main road and dodging the villagers on the dirt path. When she reached the inn, her cheeks felt warm from the exertion of jogging, and she took several deep breaths before entering the building. There were no farmers in sight, but all of her friends were downstairs, now.

"Did you speak to your father?" Lucas asked as she sat down on an empty chair.

"Yes. I've decided to stay here for a while longer."

"We thought you might," Kiree grinned.

"Then... you're not upset?" Relief that her friends were not disappointed washed over her like a shower of fresh rain.

"I'd probably do the same, in your situation."

"We want what's best for you, Esme," Belvar explained. "If you need more time with your father, you take all the time you need."

"Besides," said Shayla, "you will not be alone. I am staying too."

Daeghun, sitting beside her, turned to look at her with a look of surprise on his face. "You are?"

"Yes. The spirits in the place are ancient, and I can feel them trying to commune with me. I will stay with Esmerelle, and hopefully I will gain further knowledge from these spirits which will aid me in becoming shaman. And no, my heart, you should not stay. You need to go with the others, back to Scornubel. You may wait for us there."

"I see."

"Err," said Duncan, in a poor attempt to change the conversation to something less awkward, "well I for one can't wait to be gone from here. I don't recall Triel being this boring last time I was here... granted, that was in summer."

"I'm going to miss you all so much," Esme said, her eyes feeling teary once more.

"Save all of that for tomorrow morning," Lucas warned her. "For now, let us just enjoy the time we have together."

o - o - o - o - o

The merchants were eager to be off, and woke the farmers and their escorts as soon as the sun had risen. They tethered their animals to each other and checked their supplies of food, and by mid-morning Esme and Shayla were watching the last of the mules round a bed in the road, disappearing from sight. Esme's face was tear-stained and puffy, again, whilst Shayla's eyes were dry. When at last they could see no more of the departing group, the elf wrapped an arm around Esme's shoulder and led her back to the inn.

"How can you be so calm about all of this?" Esme asked her.

"We will not be parted for long, in the grand scheme of things."

"Daeghun seemed surprised when you said you were staying."

"He did not understand why I would choose to stay here rather than return to Scornubel with him. We spoke at length last night, however, and he has come to accept my decision. I think, sometimes, he forgets that I am not just his mate. I am also shaman. I regret that I needed to remind him."

"Was he mad with you?"

"Daeghun does not get mad. He was disappointed, though. I could see it in his eyes. But he will get over it soon enough."

"Shayla," she asked, unsure of how to proceed with her next question. "During your Journey to become shaman, have you ever had a religious experience?"

"I have had many spiritual experiences, of course, but I do not know if they are the same thing. Why do you ask?"

"I thought I had one yesterday. In the church, with Eldon. It was like... I could feel Lathander's presence. His warmth and compassion. Does that sound crazy?"

"Not at all." Shayla stopped in the middle of the road, and turned towards her. "When I am calling upon the power of the spirits, it is not just their power that I channel, but other aspects of them. Some of them are vengeful or angry, some of them are sad or frightened, some are happy or content. For a brief time, that aspect of them becomes an aspect of me.

"Perhaps to priests, like your father, who channel the power of their gods, they are also capable of becoming a vessel for certain aspects of that god. In your case, perhaps you truly did feel the presence of Lathander, but from your father, rather than from the Morninglord himself."

"That _does_ make more sense than Lathander being present in Triel," she admitted, wishing she had thought of it herself. Why did the simplest answers sometimes elude her?

At lunch time, Eldon came to the inn in search of her. He was surprised at first by Shayla's presence, but when Esme explained why her friend was staying, he accepted the explanation without further question.

"I have much to do within the church for the rest of today and tomorrow morning," he told them, "but I hope you will both join me for dinner tomorrow before sunset. Tomorrow is High Hunt, and I would prefer it if you were both somewhere safe."

"What's High Hunt?" Esme asked.

"Long ago," Eldon explained, "the villagers of Triel partook of High Hunt in the same manner as other people would, when offering prayers to Malar. Four times a year they would capture a human or a humanoid, set him free in the forest and then hunt him. If he managed to evade being captured for a full day and night, he would be granted his freedom, and could ask a boon of the hunt-master. Nathaniel put a stop to that practice, but as a compromise, he brings the villagers a live stag in mid-winter. They dress up, do some chanting, and kill the stag slowly in front of the shrine to Malar, sacrificing it in the hopes that its life will placate the angry spirits and spare them hardship during the winter."

"What nonsense," Shayla said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "But I would like to see this ritual for myself."

"Why? It is a violent and bloody affair. And dangerous, too. Sometimes the villagers are overcome by blood lust, and injure each other without even realising."

"I have an interest in all spiritual rituals, whether or not they are dangerous or effective. Besides, I wish to see the effects it has on the people. In my tribe, the killing of an animal is a sacred duty. We do it with reverence, thanking the spirit of the animal for giving its life for our people. But we would never wastefully sacrifice a creature. We use every part of an animal that we kill."

"Well... if you want to watch, at least promise me that you'll stay away from the main slaughter. They do it just after night-fall, and it takes hours for the poor beast to die."

"I will be careful," Shayla said, in an amused tone. "But Esmerelle should not watch such things. She will dine with you and you will keep her safe until it is all over."

"Of course."

"Thank you, mother," Esme glared at the elf.

Eldon departed, with apologies that he had boring religious things to do, but told Esme he would be back for her the following day. As he left, she caught Shayla watching him speculatively.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Hmm?" the elf replied absently. "Oh, nothing. I feel like going for a walk outside, in the forest. Would you like to join me?"

"Will we be safe?"

"Daeghun is not the only one with wilderness experience, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest you don't know your way around a forest. But... the bugbears?"

"We will be fine," Shayla assured her. "Ashara will keep watch for us."

o - o - o - o - o

As she trudged through deep snow, Esme was glad that Shayla had talked her into a brief excursion. Yes, walking through the snow was difficult, and cold, and sometimes she stepped into a hollow and fell over, but it was nice just to walk for the sake of walking, without having to walk to anywhere in particular. And it was nice to have company, even though they mostly walked in silence, conserving their breath as they ploughed on through the snow.

"Did you really want to stay to commune with spirits?" Esme asked when the snow got a little shallower.

"Of course. I believe there was an elven community living here once. Perhaps long before Triel was ever a human settlement. I hope to be able to contact the ancient elven spirits."

"And you really want to watch this High Hunt thing tomorrow? It sounds cruel and barbaric."

"All the better that I watch and understand it, then."

Esme shook her head. Sometimes she just didn't understand Shayla at all. Her motives seemed so foreign at times.

"Eldon seems to care for you a great deal," Shayla said after a few moments of silence.

"Don't all fathers care for their children?"

"Not all. But you seem to have been luckier than most. Many fathers might heap expectations onto their children, and love them less if they fail to meet them. Unconditional love is a rare thing, and it takes an exceptional person to love unconditionally, without expectation or restriction."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?"

Shayla nodded. "My father had no expectations of me. He loved me for who I was. Losing him was very difficult for me. He understood me better than anyone, better even than Daeghun does. When Mala and I would argue, he was the only one who could calm me down and make me see sense. My one regret is that I never told him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. I tell you this so that you do not make the same mistakes as I. You have been given a second chance with your father. You may not get a third."

Shayla's words weighed heavily on her as they continued walking, until it almost felt as if they were pushing her deeper into the snow. She already knew just how lucky she was to be given this chance to make things right with Eldon, to make up for all of the pain and hardship she had caused him. He had never asked for a single thing in return, and he had done so much for her. Despite his words the day before, she knew that he _had_ put his life on hold for her in more ways than one. And now he was stuck in Triel, a punishmnt for caring too much for his lost daughter.

"I've told Daeghun that in the next few years I would like to look for somewhere to settle down for a while, and start a family with him," Shayla said out of the blue.

Esme, balanced precariously on a stone she hadn't seen beneath the snow, lost her concentration and fell over into a deep drift. It took a few seconds for Shayla to help pull her out.

"Seriously?" Esme asked. "You're ready to start a family?"

"I think so. I have given it a lot of thought, over the past few months. I don't want to travel forever, Esmerelle. Eventually I would like to return to my people, but I would like something to show for it. I would like to know what it is to be shaman. I would like to have a son or a daughter to bring back to my tribe. I would like to hold my baby in my arms, see it grow day by day, and watch Daeghun enjoy being a father."

"I'm surprised," she admitted, which was something of an understatement. "I didn't think you'd make your mind up so soon. Have you given any thought to where you would like to settle and raise your child?"

"No, I have not yet thought that far ahead. But I wanted to tell Daeghun, to give him the news, to give him something to look forward to."

"Well... I'm happy for you. I really am," she smiled. "You are going to make a fantastic mother. You already do a great job on me... and admittedly, the rest of us."

"You wish to do the human hug thing now, don't you?"

"Of course! This is big news. And good news. It deserves at least one hug."

She waded closer to Shayla and threw her arms around the elf, which threw them both off balance. They tumbled over in the snow and rolled a small distance down a short hill. Then they both sat up, looked at each other covered head to toe in snow, and burst out laughing.

"Well, I'd heard there were strangers in Triel. But strangers who venture into the forest and roll in the snow so scantily clad... that is something I don't see every day."

Shayla was on her feet in an instant, her staff in her hands, the runes beginning to glow blue with magic. Esme was only a heartbeat behind her, preparing to unleash a holding spell. Looking down at the source of the voice, she found herself staring at a man dressed in leathers and furs. Pointed ears beneath his fur hat spoke of elven heritage, but his single most distinguishing feature were his eyes. They were purple. Not just a strange shade of blue, but actually purple. She had never seen anything like it before in her life. By the man's feet stood a white wolf, and he led a complacent stag by a halter around its head. Then a memory clicked inside her mind.

"You must be Nathaniel," she said aloud.

"My reputation precedes me, it would seem."

"We were told you were bringing a stag for the High Hunt."

"As a servant of Silvanus," Shayla said, stalking towards the man to examine the large deer, "how do you justify capturing this beast to be mindlessly slaughtered by the villagers?"

"If it keeps them from killing a human, or an elf, or any other humanoid, all in the name of their ritual Hunt, then it is something I do for the greater good, though I do not do it gladly," he explained. His purple eyes were calm as he watched Shayla palpate the deer, which stood in an unnaturally docile manner.

"You charmed it?" she asked.

"I did. I saw no sense in causing it distress by chasing it and capturing it by force."

"And the druids in this area let you abuse your power so?"

"They have no choice," he shrugged. "I never visit the same area twice, to capture my prey. To take from the same herd each time would upset the balance."

"Well," said Shayla, apparently mollified. A little. "The deer seems to be in good condition."

"Actually, it has a disease, caused by the bite of a tick, which is why I chose this animal and not a healthy one. Left alone, it would have been dead before summer."

"And you're going to give it to the villagers?" Esme asked, stepping forward to take Shayla's place.

"They don't eat it. There's no harm."

"If you find the ritual so distasteful, why don't you try to persuade the villagers to change their ways by other means? Have you tried talking to them, explaining that winters are hard everywhere, that you are the one keeping them safe, not Malar?"

"No," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I haven't tried that. But thank you for your most helpful suggestion, I'll give it a shot. I'm sure the villagers will see sense. They'll probably ignore hundreds of years of tradition to change their ways as soon as I suggest it. Now, if you ladies have done attacking me, without even so much as an introduction, I really must be getting back to the village. They'll want their stag well before the sacrifice tomorrow."

They watched him make his way back towards the village with the wolf loping ahead, its white coat turning it almost invisible against the snowy backdrop.

"Do you think we were too hard on him?" Esme asked.

"Of course not. The man clearly lacks a conscience. But I think I've seen enough of these woods for one day. Should we return to the inn, and get something to eat? It's past lunch time, if the sun reads true."

"Okay," she said, linking her arm through Shayla's. "I could do with some food. Just as long as it isn't deer meat."

o - o - o - o - o

Esme yawned and opened her eyes, then stretched her entire body out on the bed. Glancing up at the curtains, she saw darkness outside. After lunch, she had decided to sew up some damaged socks, and then have a nap. She must have slept for _hours_. It was strange that Shayla hadn't woken her for dinner, but perhaps the elf wasn't hungry yet. Esme was - her stomach growled as she sat up, reminding her that lunch had been nothing more than a few dried pieces of fruit and a glass of cold water. Dinner with Eldon tomorrow night would seem a feast, after this.

Pulling on a pair of newly repaired socks, she made her way out of her bedroom and down the corridor. The inn was eerily quiet, now that she and Shayla were the only residents, and she found herself missing the rest of her friends, and even the Scornubrians. They had all added to the atmosphere, to make the place alive and vibrant. Now it was just a place, silent and empty.

But not as silent and empty as she had first thought. As she walked down the stairs, she heard voices. They spoke in a language she could not understand, but she recognised it as elven. Wondering if Daeghun had returned after all, she hurried down the stairs and found Shayla sitting at a table, opposite the Silvanite priest, Nathaniel, whilst a very bored-looking innkeeper watched. When Shayla saw Esme arrive, she smiled and gestured her over.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" Esme asked, taking a seat between the pair.

"Of course not," said Shayla. "Nathaniel was just telling me about the elves in Ardeep Forest. His mother is from the Red-Eagle tribe of wild elves who live there."

"Why don't you live with your people?" Esme asked, her interest immediately piqued. She had loved her time among the wild elves of the Kryptgarden, and wanted to know more about other groups; whether their lives were similar to those of Shayla's people, whether their customs were the same, or whether they were vastly different.

"Eldreth Veluuthra made me feel unwelcome," Nathaniel shrugged. "Something which Shayla tells me you already have experience of."

"Forgive me," said Shayla, "Nathaniel, this is Esmerelle. We should have introduced ourselves earlier, in the forest, but you caught us off guard."

"Well met," she said, shaking his hand when he offered it. "Did Eldreth Veluuthra force you out of your home?"

"No," he replied. "I left before they had chance to. My father was already long dead by that point, and I felt no particular kinship for most of my people. I inherited his wanderlust and decided to see the realms, much like your Shayla here."

"My journey for spiritual enlightenment is hardly comparable to your 'wanderlust'." she said sternly.

"Of course not," he smiled, like a parent humouring a child. His purple eyes seemed to glow softly when he was amused.

"Where's your wolf?" Esme asked, looking around for the beautiful white creature.

"Snowfang? He is outside, in the woods. He is a wild creature, not a domestic dog; he won't come into the village."

"Nathaniel had just extended an invitation for us to take a tour of his church, if you are interested," said Shayla. "He grows trees indoors, apparently, and then plants them outside when they are larger. And he has a large collection of wild herbs in his arboretum... apparently."

"It will become apparent when you see it for yourself," Nathaniel assured her.

"I am interested, but could I take you up on your offer another time? Right now I'm about to die from starvation," said Esme. "I think I'll ask the innkeeper for some food. Would either of you like anything?"

"No thanks," said Shayla, "we already ate."

"You ate and didn't wake me?"

"I thought you probably needed the sleep. You've had an eventful few days."

"Ah, yes," said Nathaniel, " the whole thievery incident. I heard about that." Esmerelle blushed. Just what she needed, even more people hearing stories about her thieving, even if stories was all they were. "Shayla also tells me that Eldon is your father." He cast his purple eyes over her. "Forgive me, but I don't particularly see the family resemblance. And you seem a little old, to be his child. He's barely more than a child himself."

"He's not my real father," she explained. "I was orphaned, and he took me in and looked after me."

"Hmm. Well. That explains that."

"Excuse me," she said, feeling an inexplicable urge to be away from his probing eyes, "I need some food." She left the pair to their talking and made her way to the bar. The innkeeper lifted his head from his hand as she approached and sat on one of the tall stools. "Is business always this slow for you in winter?" she asked.

"Usually, yes. Though every tenday we hold village meetings here," he replied.

"When's your next meeting?"

He counted on his fingers. "Six days."

"Don't you have some place better to be, until then?"

"Sure. I got my wife and kids at home. It's where I'd be right now, were it not for the fact that I have customers."

"Then why not go home to your wife and children? Shayla and I are quite capable of fetching our own food and drinks. Just leave some parchment and ink behind the bar, and we'll write down everything that we use. At the end of the week you can tally it up, and we'll pay what we owe."

"I can't do that! What if someone was to come in? And I don't trust you to be honest anyway."

"Does anybody ever come in here, unless you have guests staying? Other than during your village meetings?"

"No," he said, his gaze glancing from side to side like a rabbit caught in a bright light. "But they might. And what if someone came in when I was out, and you and your friend were also out, or upstairs asleep? They might steal everything, clean me out of business."

"Do you get a lot of theft, in Triel?"

"Lord, no! We're honest folk. Wouldn't steal from each other, that's a terrible crime."

"Well, we're honest too," she assured him. "Ask Eldon if you don't believe me. He's..."

"Your father. Yeah, I heard you tell Nathaniel. Well... I suppose if the priests can vouch for you... your father for you, and Nathaniel for her... I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give it a trial. For a day or two. But I'll be watching you! And if anyone comes in, you tell them to come to my house."

"We will. I promise. You go and enjoy your time off," she smiled.

"I will," he said, hanging his apron up behind the bar. "Now I'll be able to help little Josie get her costume finished for the Hunt tomorrow. She's been begging me to help for days."

She watched him leave, her mind reeling from his words, and returned to the pair at the table, who had lapsed back into elven. "These people involve their children in their ritualistic bloodshed," she said.

"Yes," said Nathaniel. "It is part of their tradition."

"But they're _children_. Watching a sacrifice. Blood. Death. Suffering. _Children_."

"Now you sound like Eldon."

"Is that so bad? What's wrong with wanting to protect children against being forced to watch and participate in the slaughter of an animal?"

"You've never killed an animal before? Butchered it for food?"

"Yes, but I didn't do it wantonly to inflict suffering."

"Esmerelle," said Shayla, her voice soothing, which only irritated Esme more. "Do not concern yourself with the Hunt. I will be there to observe, and I will make sure the children are not unduly stressed or traumatised by their experience. You just enjoy your dinner with your father."

Esme said nothing, but went into the kitchen and began making some food for herself. She decided on soup, and after putting a pan of water on the oven to warm, she took out a few wrinkled vegetables and began chopping. But after a few moments she realised she wasn't as much as chopping her vegetables, as she was massacring them. Halting with the knife in mid-air, she searched for the source of her anger.

It was the way Shayla had spoken to her, she realised. The other woman had talked as if she was a child, who needed to be coddled and kept away from what might be an upsetting scene. And it wasn't just her words, but her tone of voice, the things she _hadn't_ said, that had rubbed her the wrong way. _Don't get yourself excited, Esmerelle. Don't worry about it, Esmerelle. I'll take care of it, Esmerelle. You just have a good time over dinner pretending none of this is happening._ Was that truly how Shayla saw her? Did she truly think Esme could not handle witnessing the Hunt? But more importantly... was Shayla right?

o - o - o - o - o

Looking out of the window of the inn, Esme nervously watched the sun. It was still its own height above the horizon, but it moved quickly in winter, fast enough to be seen with the naked eye. Eldon had promised he would come for her. He wouldn't let her down. Turning her head, she looked back at Shayla, who was curled up with a book in front of the fireplace. Esme knew the elf couldn't read, and was probably just looking at the pictures, but it still seemed strange to see her doing something so... out of character.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us for dinner?" she asked.

"No, but thank you," Shayla replied without looking up.

The door of the inn opened and Eldon stalked inside. He was wearing brown trousers, a blue shirt and a long flowing cloak of red and yellow, which depicted Lathander's symbol - a rising sun - on the back. Esme smiled. It was the same cloak he had wrapped her in when he had rescued her from the temple of Bhaal, all those years ago.

"Sorry for pushing it so close," he apologised, taking her hand and kissing it briefly. "I wanted to make sure Theore and Tiny reached their houses before sun-down."

"Will they be joining the Hunt?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.

"I don't know. Probably not Theore; he came here almost thirty years ago, but the locals don't see him as one of them. But Tiny was born and raised here, so maybe. I never ask them, and they never offer to tell. Who says ignorance can't be bliss?" He looked around the empty room and caught sight of the seated elf. "Ah, Shayla, can I convince you to change your mind?"

"I already tried," Esme said, rolling her eyes. "She's too stubborn to change her mind."

"Have fun, both of you," Shayla called, her eyes still on the book.

"It's time to go," Eldon nodded. "Come on, Esmerelle, I have our food waiting."

She followed him out of the inn and pulled the door closed behind herself. The night before, she had informed Shayla of the arrangement she had come to with the innkeeper, which suited her just fine. Since the elf could not read or write, it fell to Esme to keep up a running tab of all they ate and drank. So far the system was working, and she hadn't seen any sign of the innkeeper since he had left.

As she walked beside Eldon along the main road, she noticed a distinct lack of people on the street. In fact, there wasn't a single person outdoors, other than she and Eldon. The town, which had been eerie before, was now downright creepy. She thought she saw shadowy forms in the windows of some houses, but the forms appeared to have pointed ears and long muzzles. Whatever they were, they weren't human, and she clutched at Eldon's arm. Not because she was afraid, of course. She was just cold.

"Don't worry," he said, "they won't come out until the sun departs the sky."

She cast a quick glance at the glowing red orb, which was still hanging over the horizon, and she willed it to stay in place for as long as possible. "What are they?" she asked, glancing from window to window.

"The villagers. They wear the furs of wolves and bears and lions during the Hunt. They think it invokes Malar's presence. That's one of the reasons I wanted you somewhere safe tonight. I don't think Malar actually comes here, but I don't want to take any chances."

"They wear the furs of animals, but not the hides of orcs or gnolls?"

"No. Malar is the beast-lord, not the monster-lord. Evil lycanthropes worship him, but monsters do not."

"Have you ever... watched a Hunt?"

"Yes," he said, and his brows creased into a frown. "During my first winter here. I felt it important to watch, to know what was happening, to see what the people were doing to themselves."

"They let their children take part in the Hunt," she accused.

"Yes, they do. That's why I work so hard at undoing that damage during the rest of the seasons. In winter, Malar has these people, but in spring, summer and autumn, they will be mine. Eventually."

"You mean they will be Lathander's," she corrected, and he laughed.

"Sure, why not. I can share."

When they reached the shrine to Malar, Esme saw the stag tethered to the altar. It was standing quietly, showing no fear, no understanding of what was happening to it, and what was about to happen. Never again would it run free beneath the stars. Never again would it fight for a mate, or watch its young being reared. Never again would it taste the fresh spring grass, or the sweetness of fast-flowing water. All it could do was stand there, trusting, waiting, for the first blade to pierce its skin.

She only knew that her feet were taking her towards the creature when Eldon caught her by the arm and pulled her away. "Don't," he said. And she only knew she was crying when her tears blurred the path and caused her to stumble. But Eldon still held her arm, and his firm hands stopped her from falling. She wanted to go to the deer, to stroke it, to offer it some last act of kindness, some last comfort, before its life was cruelly taken. But she knew that Eldon would not let her. She had to keep walking, away from the stag, away from the cold shrine, away from what was to come.

She was dimly aware that he led her into the church and into his office, feeling more by the change in temperature than she could by seeing with her teary eyes, then she was sat down on his sofa. There came the sound of a bottle being uncorked and liquid being poured, and he gave her a small glass.

"Drink," he commanded, and she obeyed. The brandy warmed her throat and burnt her belly, and shocked her mind back into the present, back to reality. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, taking a seat beside her.

"How can they be so cruel?" she asked with a shiver.

"They see it as a necessity," he explained. "That doesn't make it right, and it doesn't justify what they do. But they don't see it as you and I do. They see it as a sacrifice, one life for many. Malarites do have some morals, though. They are forbidden from harming the young and the pregnant."

"Slightly less evil is still evil," she said.

"I know. And for the rest of the year, these people are not evil it all. They may not be the most exciting or creative bunch, but they're not cruel. Just stubborn and tradition-bound."

"Do you know what Shayla said when I told her about the children watching the Hunt?" she asked, suddenly reminded of her anger the night before. "She told me not to think about it. She told me to come here and have a nice meal. As if I could just forget about the pain and suffering happening a handful of streets away. I think she sees me as a child. I think she believes I can't handle watching a Hunt."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know," she said, standing up and pacing the floor. "I don't _want_ to watch a Hunt. But if I _had_ to... maybe I could."

"But you don't have to. So why torture yourself over it?"

"I'm not sure," she sighed, wishing she could find the words to properly express herself. "I just don't like the assumption that I can't handle things that other people can."

"Shayla comes from a different world than you," he pointed out. "You told me that yourself."

"You aren't understanding my point."

"I suppose not." He stood up and held her by the shoulders. "I would not watch a Hunt, if I didn't have to. And the one here is tame compared to what happens elsewhere. Humans take longer to die than a stag. The deer will go into shock after a few moments. Most people don't. Having seen even a tiny part of what happens on a hunt, I would never wish it on another person. You don't have anything to prove, Esmerelle. Not to me, not to Shayla, not to the rest of the world. The toll it takes on your soul is heavy. It's a burdon you shouldn't have to bear."

"No offence," she said, "but I don't think I can eat right now. Not when I know what's going to be happening out there."

"I didn't think you'd have much of an appetite," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "It's soup, but it will last for hours on the stove. We can work up your appetite and eat whenever you feel ready."

She nodded, and sipped the brandy. It was slowly managing to relax her, and she needed all the help she could get tonight. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the beastial figures in the windows of the houses, waiting for the sun to set so they could begin their macabre ritual.

"Will it be fast?" she asked with a shiver. "The deer's... death?"

"No. I wish I could lie and tell you that it won't suffer. For the first hour or so, they'll just do some dancing, some chanting, some beseeching of Malar to appear before them and protect them over the winter. Then they'll kill the deer slowly." He shook his head and tutted. "Listen to me. Telling you one minute that you don't want to watch it, and then describing it to you the next. I'm not going to discuss this with you anymore, Esmerelle. Now. Tell me how it went with your friends yesterday. Did you see them safely off?"

"Yes. I think they were a little bit sad to go, but they were all looking forward to getting back to Scornubel."

"That's good. They'll probably be happier there. More to do. More to see. Better food."

She nodded, took another sip of her brandy, then set the glass aside. That was enough of the warming liqueur for one night. Her stomach was quite empty, and she didn't want the alcohol to go to her head.

"Would you like something to drink?" Eldon offered. "Water, milk, wine, tea?"

She shook her head. Her stomach seemed to be rejecting the notion of liquid, as well as food. It was just because she was nervous, she knew, of what was happening outside. Though she had been around death before, and occasionally dealt it out, she had never been near a ritualistic sacrifice. She had never been near death that did not serve a purpose. A tangible purpose other than the perceived safety of a malevolent god. Almost without noticing, she found herself edging closer to the window, trying to see if she could view the street outside.

"Esme," Eldon said, and her head snapped back to him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she replied immediately, and then closed her eyes. It was a foolish lie, and one that was not in the least bit believable. "I was trying to see outside. I'm sorry."

"Come and sit here," he said, patting the seat behind him. "As much as I enjoy talking to the back of your head, I think I prefer talking to your face. It's a nicer view." She sat down obediently, and waited. "You told me, earlier, that you saw Aliya recently. How is she? I haven't seen her in two years."

"She's doing well, I think. We didn't talk for all that long, really. We just didn't have the chance. But she's a full priest now, and the last I saw she was travelling with a company of knights from various temples in Waterdeep. They were on their way to investigate claims of increased orc attacks in... some woods or other, near Daggerford. I forgot the name."

"Seeing you two together was like chalk and cheese." Eldon smiled at the memory. "You were as physically different as two girls could be, but you behaved just like sisters. Like Selûne and Shar."

"I don't like that analogy. Shar is evil. I don't want there to be an evil one, between Ali and me."

"I'm sorry. I meant nothing by it."

Of course, she should have known that he was not insinuating anything with his words. He was just comparing herself and Ali to two different goddesses. It was almost a compliment, really. And now she'd made him think he'd offended her. Kicking herself mentally, she searched for a better topic.

"When I saw Ali," she said, remembering the conversation, "she told me that she and the other acolytes were tested after I ran away, in case I'd managed to 'taint' any of them. And she also told me that Albur hated me. Why did he dislike me so much, Eldon? When I spied on your meeting with the priests, he was the one pushing for me to be 'disposed of'. What did I do to him, to cause him to take such a hostile view of me?"

"Ahh, Albur," said Eldon, and shook his head sadly. "It's not what you did, it's what you were."

"A Child of Bhaal?"

"No, before that. What you were to me. Albur was a sad, lonely man who had a very unhappy childhood. He wanted something from me, but I wouldn't give it to him."

"What did he want?"

He smiled, and cupped her chin in his hand. It was warm, and her skin tingled at his touch. "Everything that I gave to you. Time, attention, acceptance... love."

"Oh," she said, as realisation dawned. "I thought he just didn't like children."

"That probably factored into it," he admitted. "But he saw you as an obstacle, as somebody who had come along and usurped his chances of happiness. I'd tried to make it clear to him several times, both before you came into my life and after, that I had no interest in him, but I think he thought he could change my mind. When it became clear he couldn't, I think he saw you as the reason for my rejection of him."

"Where is he now?"

"He died several years ago, fighting during a campaign. I don't recall the exact details... it was during my heavy drinking period, when I cared little for anything around me."

"I know I shouldn't be gladdened by death, but I can't say I'm sorry to hear that he's no longer out there, hating me. Does that make me selfish?"

"Not at all," he smiled. "It makes you sensible." He finally remembered to lower his hand, leaving her skin feeling cold and bare. "Hmm, I'll get the wine," he said. "You might not want to drink, but I need something to oil my throat with all this talking we're doing."

He disappeared into the dining room and returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. He uncorked the bottle but only half-filled the glasses, giving one to her and keeping one for himself. "Because it's not good to drink too much on an empty stomach," he explained.

"I'm sorry if I'm talking a lot," she said, taking a small sip of her wine before setting it aside. "Sometimes Kiree and I stay up talking for hours at nights, when we share a room, so please tell me if I'm talking too much."

"Nonsense. You have a lovely voice. You couldn't carry a tune if your life depended on it, if I remember rightly, but I could listen to you talk all night."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"When I spoke to Ali, she told me that you pushed me harder than any of the other acolytes, that you had higher expectations of me... do you think I've met your expectations?" She tried not to bite her bottom lip as she waited for him to answer, and when he finally did, his tone was serious, matched by the look in his eyes.

"In all honesty? No. I don't think you've met them. I think you've surpassed them. All I wanted was for you to be happy. _Are_ you happy, Esmerelle?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then I couldn't ask for anything more. You might not be living the life I had imagined for you, but you're living your life to its fullest. You've not only survived, but thrived. You've overcome every hardship thrown at you, and grown stronger each time. And you've not only become stronger, but you've grown into a wonderful, caring person who thinks nothing of risking her own safety to help others."

"Something tells me that if I grew another two heads and declared I was joining a cult, you'd still be proud of me."

"I'm sure you'd be the best three-headed cultist in the Realms. But please don't do that. The one head you already have is just perfect, and if you joined a cult I'd have to plan a daring mission to rescue you."

"Alright," she said, with a wicked grin. "I promise I won't join any cults. At least not until I've had a few kids, and done the whole 'responsibility' thing. But after that I reserve the right to let my hair down a little."

"Oh, please don't do that," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm far too young to be a grandfather. Or step-grandfather. But in all seriousness, is that something you've considered? Settling down and having a family?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead. I mean, sometimes I've thought about staying in a city somewhere, and opening up my own potion shop. But for now, I enjoy travelling too much, and meeting new people, and seeing new places, and learning new things." She stopped when she saw the sobre expression on his face. "What's the matter?"

"I just... I don't know how safe it would be for you, settling down in one place. You know of the troubles between Baldur's Gate and Amn?" She nodded. It was what had driven she and her friends to Scornubel in the first place. "I hear that there's a Child of Bhaal involved somehow. Maybe even more than one. So far they've mostly been quiet, but now... if they're drawing more attention to themselves as they grow older, it will focus the eyes of the world upon them. Soon, "Bhaalspawn" may become the next curse, scrawled on doors in towns and cities to accuse those inside of being the offspring of the Lord of Murder."

"I... I see," she said faintly as her mind tried to digest the information. She had always known that there were others out there, others like her, who were tainted by the blood of Bhaal. But until now she had given them very little thought. She had no idea who any of them were, or where they lived, or even if they appeared human, as she did. But now, if some of her half-brothers and sisters were causing trouble for the rest, it could make it difficult for her to lead any life at all, much less a settled one.

An unnatural scream pierced the air, and she startled in fright.

"What was that?" she asked, and a chill crawled up her spine, bringing goosebumps to her skin.

"The High Hunt," Eldon said sadly. "The sacrifice has begun."

Further screams followed, and Esmerelle closed her eyes and covered her ears in an attempt to block them out. She was thankful that she wasn't out there, now, thankful that Eldon had chased away her foolish notions of being strong enough to witness the slaughter. She wasn't strong enough, and if being strong enough meant having to endure the stag's cries of anguish and pain, she hoped she would never _be_ strong enough.

"I don't want to listen to it," she said, trying to wish it away.

"It will be over soon," he said, but it didn't help with what she was hearing _now_. Even when he pulled her into his arms and held her tight, it didn't help all that much. In her mind's eye she could almost _see_ the villagers, clad in their animal-fur cloaks, dancing around the fallen deer, animated by the blood and the beast's bleats for help. She could imagine the frenzy and fervour in their eyes as they, on this one day of the year, held the power of death in their hands. It was a power they sold their souls for; it made them empty and grey, and she wanted no part of it.

When the cries finally stopped, she was aware of Eldon stroking her hair and murmuring quietly to her. She was aware that she had been crying again, because her eyes were blurry and her cheeks were damp, and her hair was plastered to her face by her tears. She lay still in his arms, because thinking, moving, being Esmerelle, hurt too much. She didn't want to think about the deer as it lay suffering in the freezing cold. She didn't want to think about her own future full of danger and accusation and being hunted for what she was. All she wanted to do was pretend the world outside the church did not exist. She wanted to throw herself at the feet of the Morninglord and beg him to help her be strong enough to get through each day, one day at a time.

Sitting up, she wiped her sleeve across her eyes, ridding herself of her tears. "Do that thing you used to do when I was a child, and had nightmares," she said.

He planted a warm kiss on her forehead, and wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. "Don't worry," he said. "Everything will be okay."

She waited for the magic to work, for the protective curtain to come down. It had always worked, when she was younger. She had believed that Eldon knew best, that he could protect her from any dream or any monster no matter how bad it was. But now the magic was gone. Now she knew that the worst of the monsters did not lurk under beds or stalk nightmares. They were inside people, inside human beings, hiding behind a façade of civility, a veneer comprised of smiling faces and pleasant eyes, waiting for an excuse to be set free.

"I don't believe you," she said.

"You know what? Neither do I."

He leant forward again and this time planted a kiss on her lips, his touch warm and gentle. Some small part of her that was still Esmerelle was both shocked and appalled. He was her _father_. He shouldn't be _kissing_ her! It wasn't right. It was the height of wrongness. There was possibly no greater sin.

But the majority of her had already decided that being Esmerelle tonight was too painful. Whilst the Hunt was being performed, whilst the villagers were out forcing their children to partake of ritual slaughter, it hurt to much to let those things in, to let herself care. Besides, Eldon wasn't her real father. He was just a man. And she wasn't a child, being taken advantage of. She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of of saying 'no'.

She let herself go, losing herself in the softness of his lips, the touch of his fingers on her face, and the touch of her hands on his neck. Warmth radiated through her, spreading out from her stomach to the top of her scalp and down to the ends of her toes. With the warmth came a sense of rightness, of belonging, and she recognised it as the feeling she had experienced earlier, which she had attributed to the warming presence of the Morninglord. She still had no idea if this _was_ due to the influence of Lathander; all she knew was that nothing had ever felt so right before. Not even when she had let Kalan'Tel out of his cage.

When at last Eldon pulled away from her, he gasped for breath like a man dying of suffocation. But he kept his hand on the back of her neck, his face close enough to hers that she could hear him speak in a whisper. And he kept his eyes closed; maybe he feared to open them. Maybe he feared to see anger or betrayal in her own eyes over his actions.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," she said, in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. "I-"

"Esmerelle, no," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't talk. Just listen. You are my daughter. What I did was wrong. I am a bad, bad man. I want you in ways that I shouldn't, ways that are very, very wrong. I clearly can't be trusted around you, so I want you to go out into the prayer hall and we can wait until the ritual is over, then I will escort you back to the inn. I hope that one day you can forgive me for taking advantage of you whilst you were upset."

She didn't bother dignifying any of it with a response. She simply kissed him again, and somehow managed to let go of all of her internal protests and inhibitions, allowing herself to be filled instead with the tingling warmth which radiated through her body. She willed it outwards, trying to make Eldon feel what she felt, trying to make the wonderful warmth suffuse him as it had her.

She pulled away from the kiss, and waited for him to open his eyes. They were dark whirlpools of emotions that she couldn't even begin to fathom. "Don't talk," she said. "Just listen. You are not my father. What you did was not wrong. You are a good man, and I want you in ways that are very, very natural. Clearly I can't be trusted around you, so I propose we don't do any more talking, since words just get in the way. The ritual will be over by morning. You can escort me back to the inn then. If you can give me nothing else, at least give me this night."

When she suspected he needed more convincing, she lowered her head to his neck and slowly kissed the soft skin between his jaw and his collarbone. She felt a shiver pass through his body at her touch, and his strong arms encircled her, pulling her onto his lap. He kissed her again, with more passion and far less restraint, but despite his more forceful action, he did not hurt her, even when he ran one hand through her hair, letting his fingers close around it so that he could gently pull back her head and expose her pale neck, which he kissed.

After an eternity of tortuous kisses, he released her hair and looked into her eyes. "I promise to be gentle," he said.

"That would be appreciated," she smiled, and let her lips hover enticingly over his.

They relocated to the back room, and lay down on the sheets of his bed, which smelt like fresh spring flowers even in the midst of winter. He touched her in ways and places she had never been touched before. With lavishing care and attention he made her body feel as if it was on fire; she ached for him and cried out for him, and when he finally joined his body with hers she felt as if she was complete for the first time in her life. Oblivious to the fervent acts of love taking place just streets away, the wolves and bears and lions continued their frenzied dance around the deer which had stopped clinging to life hours ago. Their chants were unheard, and their presence forgotten, by the couple inside the church.


	31. Decisions

Chapter 31.

Decisions

"_To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."_ - Bertrand Russell

o - o - o - o - o

When Esme awoke, sunlight was streaming in through the curtains of the window, and as she inhaled deeply she caught the fresh scent of flowers. There was no brief period of wondering where she was, of waking up in an unfamiliar bed and momentarily not being able to recall where she was and why. She knew exactly whose bed she was sleeping in, exactly whose arms were holding her in a warm embrace, whose body was curled around hers. There was no slow, dawning realisation of what she had done the night before, because she could immediately recall every instant, every action, every touch, every kiss. And as much as she wanted to lie there, enjoying the feeling of his body, not having to think about the consequences of their actions, she knew that she could not put the rest of the day off forever.

She rolled over and found herself looking at a pair of calm, dark eyes. Somehow she felt more aware of Eldon now; she noticed the way his pupils contracted when his gaze focused on her, the slight twitching of the muscles in his forehead and jaw which indicated he was in deep thought or worried about something, the way his fingers gently traced the curve of her hip as she repositioned herself in his arms.

"Good morning," she said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, though when I woke this morning, I had to give myself _the talk_. It was a sobering experience."

"I was worried you might not be here when I woke up," she admitted. It had been the last thing she thought about before she had fallen asleep last night. Or, more accurately, during the early hours of the morning when her body's desires had finally been satisfied.

"I thought about getting up," he admitted. "I wanted to avoid this talk. This awkwardness."

"What made you decide to stay?"

"After all the times you've had to wake up alone in the past, I thought you deserved more than that."

She felt a warmth inside her chest, and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head beneath his chin so that she could rest her head against his chest. "Thank you," she whispered. That he had decided to stay, to let her wake in his arms, let her know that she was not alone, even though the situation was awkward for him, was the greatest gift anybody had ever given her.

"I feel so torn," he said quietly. "I know that what we did last night was wrong in so many ways. I know that it was a mistake, and that it can never happen again. But at the same time, I've never felt this way before. I didn't know I _could_ feel this way."

"What way?" she asked, moving her head back to watch his face.

"When I'm with you, I just want to touch you, to hold you, to feel your body, your skin, against mine. I want to kiss you and lose myself entirely in the moment. I want to shut out the rest of the world and spend every moment of my time making you happy. I want to hold you in my arms and make love to you and never let you go. I want to lock myself in this room with you and forget that anything else exists."

She felt his body stirring in response to his words; his hands on her waist pulled her closer, his breathing quickened and his eyes dilated as he let his gaze linger over the features of her face. That was all it took for her body to react, and she felt the warm feeling in her chest once more, arousing her body, causing her to ache with longing and desire. This time when he kissed her she didn't hesitate; she opened herself up to him, relishing the warmth and closeness of their bodies when he was inside her. Her legs curled involuntarily around his, her arms around his shoulders pulling him closer to her, feeling the muscles in his body work rhythmically as each long, slow thrust elicited a gasp or a moan of pleasure from her lips. He seemed to know her body better than she did, and held her tortuously on the edge of a dizzying climax, only pushing her over the edge as he began his own release.

When she came back to her body from a wonderful place where it felt like she was floating in a void of warmth and pure pleasure, she felt her own pulse racing as her breathing rate began to slow to something more normal. Eldon's weight on top of her was warm and reassuring, and his arms still held her close. She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, and the softness of his lips as he kissed her skin.

"I told you I couldn't trust myself around you," he said quietly.

"I can't say that I'm sorry. Are you?"

He lifted his weight off her and positioned himself by her side on the bed, propping himself up with one elbow. "Right now? No. But in an hour, or at lunch time, or dinner time... maybe I will regret all of this."

"Do you have to? Can't you just enjoy it? Can't we just be a man and a woman seeking comfort and pleasure in each others' arms?"

"But you're not just any woman."

"I'm a Child of Bhaal?"

"No, you're my daughter."

"And if I wasn't your daughter, if I was just somebody that you met one day, still me but unknown to you until now, would you still have doubts and regrets?"

"Of course not," he said. His eyebrows lowered into a slight frown. "No woman has ever made me feel as you do. When we're together, it just feels like so much more than anything I've felt before. I can't explain it. I'm not even sure that I _want_ to."

"I can't speak for you," she said, trying to order her thoughts. She needed him to know how she felt, and exactly what he meant to her. She needed him, of all people, to understand her. "All I know is how I feel. And whenever I'm close to you, I'm filled with a warmth that at first I thought came from the Lord. Now I know what it is... it just took me a while to realise it, because I've never felt it before. What I feel is love, Eldon. Not any sort of definable love, like the love between a parent and child, or two friends, or a man and a woman. Just love in its purest form. Maybe it comes from me. Maybe it comes from the Morninglord. All I know is that it's inside me. It's wonderful and frightening and a little overwhelming, but I can't pretend it doesn't exist and I can't make it go away. Kissing you for the first time last night felt so _right_. Everything that we have done, has felt right. Can something that feels so right, be so wrong?"

"I don't know, Esme," he said. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I'm just a man. I don't have all the answers. I never did. I do know that I love you, more than I've ever loved anybody before. I think later, I'll pray to Lathander. Ask him for a little illumination."

"Do you have to go deliver your sermon now?" she asked. The thought of him leaving made her sad. She had never shared a bed with anybody before, at least not in this way. The combination of clean sheets and warm skin against her body was a new experience for her, one that she wanted to prolong for as long as possible. Not that she'd want Eldon to shirk his priestly duties because of her.

"No, there's no prayer the morning after the Hunt. The villagers stay up almost until dawn. They won't be waking for a long time yet."

She shifted in the bed, closing the distance between them, so that once again their warm bodies were touching. "Do you mind if we stay like this for a while?" she asked, resting her head against his chest. "I don't want it to be over. Not yet."

"I suppose that would be okay." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. For the first time in her life, she felt safe, loved and wanted. For the moment she had not a single care, and surrounded by a protective cocoon of love, she dozed in his arms.

o - o - o - o - o

The second time Esme woke, the bed beside her was empty but still warm. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, looking around for Eldon. He hadn't gone far; he was seated on one of the dining chairs, watching her silently. Though he had pulled on his trousers he remained shirtless, and she ran her eyes over his toned torso. Occasional scars marred his otherwise perfect body, but they were old things, faded and well-healed.

"Didn't anybody tell you it's rude to stare?" she joked.

"Serves you right for being so beautiful." He gestured to the table, to slices of bread, butter and cheese which had been laid out. "Would you like some breakfast? I realised that we didn't actually get around to eating last night. You must be hungry."

She nodded, and looked around for her clothes. She spied her shirt on the end of the bed, and pulled it over her head, cold and suddenly self-conscious without the protective layer of blankets. Her trousers she found dumped unceremoniously over the back of the other dining chair, and when she caught sight of the food her stomach rumbled. She would worry about finding her socks and shoes later, she decided.

In the middle of the table she found a pot of fresh hot tea, and poured a cup for herself, then helped herself to bread and cheese. They spent a few moments sitting in silence, enjoying the food after almost a full day of unintended fasting. When at last her hunger was satisfied, she took a sip of her tea and leant back into her chair.

"I feel that I owe you an apology," Eldon said, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "When you told me you were leaving, and I asked you to spend a little more time here with me, I wasn't thinking of you as my daughter. My motives were selfish. I'd hoped something like this might happen, even though I was disgusted with myself for having such thoughts. I wanted you, even though the very idea was abhorrent to me. I hoped that you might have some inkling of how I felt, and that part of you might feel the same way. If I deceived you by asking you to remain here longer, I'm sorry."

"You didn't deceive me," she sighed. "You didn't take advantage of me, or force me to do anything that I didn't want. Please stop being so apologetic. Sometimes it is okay to be selfish, to want things for yourself, to want to be happy, and feel wanted and loved. Lathander knows, I've wanted those things all my life. You need to stop torturing yourself. I'm alive. I'm here. I'm happy. What happened between us was the most wonderful thing I've ever experienced. You don't have to punish yourself for perceived crimes or sins which don't exist."

"I wish I could see the world as you do. Perhaps you're right. Maybe I am punishing myself unduly. But feeling guilty is something I've perfected over the years. It comes almost naturally to me. Sometimes I feel like a priest of Ilmater, rather than Lathander."

"I think I should be getting back to the inn," she said, swallowing a last mouthful of tea. He stood as she did, looking surprised.

"Have I made you feel uncomfortable with my words?"

"No," she smiled. Stepping forwards, she ran her hand from his neck down to his chest, letting her fingers trace the outline of his muscles. "But I only just put my clothes on, and seeing you sitting there without your shirt makes me want to take them off again."

"I completely understand. I'd like to take your clothes off too," he said, bending his neck to softly kiss her lips.

Before the flames of desire could be fanned entirely, she stepped back and smiled apologetically. "Shayla's probably sick with worry over my absence. I really should go."

"I suppose you should."

He helped her track down her missing socks, which for some reason turned up in his office, and she sat on the sofa as she pulled on her boots. As she tied her laces, she wondered if Eldon would want her to come back tonight. If he did, maybe she should attempt to cook something and bring it with her, to make up for ruining the dinner he had spent so long planning. Or maybe, she thought, with a tingle of pleasure, Eldon would want to eat in the inn, tonight. Maybe he would like to spend the night with her there, talking in front of the fire for hours, and then going upstairs to her room where they could repeat their experience of last night.

But Shayla was at the inn, too. How could she and Eldon possibly have any sort of private time with the elf constantly watching like an over-protective mother? In fact, how was she going to explain her absence to Shayla? She should have been back at the inn long before, now. The ritual had finished before dawn. She was surprised Shayla hadn't come here already, to find out if she was safe.

"Copper for your thoughts," Eldon said, and she saw him watching her lace up her boots. He had, she was glad to see, put on a shirt.

"They're worth more than that," she replied. "I'm sure you can make me a better offer."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we forgot about your delicious dinner last night. If you like, I can cook something, and fetch it for us to eat. My way of saying sorry for all your wasted effort."

"Can I think about it? I have some soul-searching to do today, I think."

"Of course. Just let me know."

He led her out of his office and into the prayer hall, which was spookily silent. Because there was no morning prayer today, no candles had been lit, and the room felt chillier than usual. Cooler than the office, at least. And _much_ cooler than the bed. For a wonder, she didn't blush at the thought of everything they had done there. In fact, she realised that she had now experienced much of what Kiree had described. What she had had with Kalan'Tel had been nice. A good first experience which had left her feeling happy afterwards. But it had been nothing like last night, with Eldon. It had been nothing compared to the raging fire of longing and desire which she could feel lingering in her body even now, even hours later. She now understood why the characters in Lucas' tales and songs who were motivated by love, acted as they did. It was a powerful feeling.

When Eldon unlocked the front door of the church and opened it wide, Esme's gaze fell on the pristine white townscape around her. Gone was the greyness of the village, the washed-out feeling, the dirty brown snow which had been trampled and churned by multitudes of feet, replaced with a blanket of pure, brilliant white that was unmarked by even a single footprint. It was an amazing transformation, and Esme held her breath as she drank in the sight.

"Hmm. Must have snowed overnight," said Eldon thoughtfully. "I'll have to dig out the vegetable garden later, before the snow melts and freezes and turns to a sheet of ice. The soil needs to breathe, just like you and I."

"I can't believe how beautiful and peaceful it looks," she said, still awed by the fresh snow.

"Enjoy it while you can." He glanced at the sun's position in the sky as it made its way towards its winter zenith. "In a couple of hours the villagers will be out with their brushes and their shovels to take all of this away. Would you like me to walk you back to the inn?"

"Thank you, but no. I'm more than familiar with the way by now. And to be honest, I'd like to walk alone for a while, and enjoy this fresh snow." She didn't tell him her true reasoning, because even to her it sounded silly and poetic. She wanted to walk through the snow and be the first one to leave tracks on the fresh white blanket. In a way, she felt like she would be leaving her mark on the village, even when the villagers came to sweep it away. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek in farewell and turned to step into the snow.

Though it had only fallen to a depth of three or four inches, it was more than enough to cover up all of the old tracks which had been made by the people as they went about their daily lives. Occasionally a small pile of snow would lose its grasp and fall from the roof of a house, sinking into the whiteness below and settling into a small pile. To Esme, it felt as if the whole village was asleep - not just the people, but the shops and the houses, wrapped in a blanket of white as she had been wrapped in Eldon's blankets last night.

When she reached the shrine to Malar, she saw what remained of the deer carcass. It had been sliced open, its innards removed and placed on the shrine as an offering to the beast-lord. Its head had been cut off and mounted on a pole beside the shrine, a macabre witness to its own demise. Thankfully, the ground was not red with blood, which meant that the snow had most likely fallen after the killing and butchering had taken place, after the villagers had started to leave the scene. She was glad for that. Although she knew that the snow could not wash away the brutal act which had taken place, it at least could hide the worst of it from view. With any luck, she would not have to step through the blood of the stag every time she came this way.

The ground was in an equally pristine condition around the inn, and Esme knew she would have to prepare herself for some explanation. But which one? She had been tired and fallen asleep after dinner. She and Eldon had stayed up talking all night. She had decided to spend the night praying to Lathander to forgive the people of the village, and then watch the rising dawn. The ritual had gone on so late there seemed little point in returning to the inn. They were all perfectly valid reasons for her tardiness... but which would be the most believable?

She heard the crunching of snow as somebody approached behind her. Expecting to see Eldon deciding to follow her, it was a surprise when she turned and found herself looking at Shayla. She took in the woman's eyes, with dark circles of tiredness ringing them, her clothes, which were the same clothes she had been wearing the day before, and the fact that there were no tracks leading to or from the inn.

"You stayed out all night," she half asked, half accused.

"So did you" Shayla pointed out.

"I fell asleep after dinner," Esme said quickly. "In the church. On the sofa. Eldon didn't want to wake me."

"I chose to reverie amongst the growing trees in the church of Silvanus."

Esme nodded, and in the silence that followed she examined the ground, as if the new footprints marring the blanket of snow were the most interesting thing in the world. When no further conversation was forthcoming, she gestured to the door of the inn. "Did you want to..."

"Please."

She pushed the unlocked door open and stepped inside. The common room was dark and cold, the fire dead. Neither of them had thought to bank it for the night, believing that they would be back well before morning. Esme went to the fire as Shayla began opening the curtains, letting light into the room. In just a few minutes a small fire was licking merrily at a large dry log, and the inn was beginning to feel habitable again.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Shayla asked.

"No thank you, I already ate."

"I would like the use of the stove, in that case. I wish to boil water, for a bath."

"Didn't you have a bath just yesterday?"

"I did, but I feel unclean. The Hunt ritual was... something I wish to scour from my soul. Instead, I will settle for scouring all traces of it from my skin."

Esme nodded in understanding. She had felt that way before, after accidentally killing the man who had been trying to kill Lucas. "By all means, heat some water." She waited for Shayla to disappear into the kitchen, but the elf lingered uncertainly. "Is something wrong?"

"You're not going to ask questions?" Shayla enquired cautiously. "About the Hunt? What it was like? Whether the children of the village were traumatised by it? Whether the deer suffered before it died?"

"No. I don't want to know."

"Good. I'll go and see to the water now."

She watched Shayla go, and felt strangely empowered. Her answer had not been the one that Shayla had been expecting, which had shifted the balance between them a little. It felt good, to be less predictable. Her friends all considered her to be steady, reliable and dependable. And whilst she did want to be reliable and dependable, she didn't want to be seen as somebody who was boring, always doing the same things in the same way, always making predictable choices.

With a small smile, she picked up the book Shayla had been looking at the night before - it was a story book, a tale of one of Volothamp Geddarm's many adventures - and settled down with it in front of the fire. Eventually Eldon would come to some sort of decision about their newly blossoming relationship, and she wanted to be right where he could find her when he did.

o - o - o - o - o

When the sun began to sink below the horizon, it turned the clear blue sky a beautiful shade of reddish gold. It reminded Esme of a fire, only larger, and molten, and made of nothing that had actual substance but was no less beautiful for that fact. Sadly, it did not last for long. The sun continued on its eternal trek, and the crescent moon, which had been haunting the sky for hours already, finally came in to its own glory as the red orb disappeared beyond the horizon.

Darkness came, and with it came a drop in temperature. Ice crystals formed on the windows of the inn, joining with each other and spreading out into beautiful patterns which obscured her view of the stars. She had long since finished the book, and couldn't find another one that piqued her interest. Instead, she had chosen to watch the village scene from the safety of the window.

It was almost as if the night before had never happened. The villagers were dressed in their normal clothing, now, with not an animal fur in sight. They spent the day clearing the paths to their houses, whilst children took advantage of the clean snow to throw snowballs at each other. It could have been a scene from any village along the Sword Coast. There was nothing to mark this place as different. Nothing except the dark shrine and the dead deer, which she thankfully could not see from the inn.

How did the villagers manage to go about their lives as usual, after what they had done last night? Did they feel any regret for the creature they had tortured to death? Were they all involved in it, or did some of them just watch? If any of the children started crying at the cruelty, were they comforted by caring arms, or ignored in the hopes that they would grow stronger in time? They were questions that plagued her all afternoon. She wanted answers, but at the same time she feared what those answers might be. Whilst she lived in ignorance she could at least pretend that the villagers _did_ care, that they _were_ grateful to the deer for the sacrifice, and that they did regret their actions. Sometimes, dreams were more comforting than reality.

When Esme heard sound behind her, she turned in her seat and saw Shayla wrapping the bearskin cloak around her shoulders and pulling on her boots. True to her word, the elf had scrubbed herself clean, and come out of the bath looking much pinker than usual. Now, though, her skin had returned to its usual pale colour, and her tattoos stood out as a dark contrast.

"You're going out?" Esme asked her.

"Yes, I'm going to the church of Silvanus. Attempting to communicate with the ancient spirits is easier, there, where I can be indirectly connected to the land through the trees."

"Will you be back tonight?"

One of Shayla's eyebrows quirked up. "I don't know, it depends on how successful I am. Are you staying in?"

"I haven't decided yet," she said coolly, not wanting to betray how desperately she wanted Eldon to give her some word about his decision.

"Well, if you do go out, please bank the fire just in case." And with that, Shayla was gone. No words of caution or wishes of a good time, just there one minute and gone the next.

With Shayla absent, the inn felt even more lonely than before. Granted, they hadn't talked much, or at all, since Shayla had gone for her bath, but that wasn't unusual. The elf wasn't the most talkative person in the world. Not like Kiree, who could go for hours without taking a breath.

What was taking Eldon so long? Didn't he realise that she was waiting for him, hungering for him and aching for him? Maybe, she thought, he just didn't find her company as enjoyable as she found his. After all, the company of women wasn't anything new to him. He'd most likely seen his fair share, when he was younger. Perhaps he found their time together less exciting because it was not as new to him. Or she had been too forward, maybe. She had pushed for too much, too fast, when he wasn't ready. She had made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, and he was trying to come up with a way to tell her to back off without hurting her feeling.

Realising that her doubts were ultimately depressing and self-defeating, she pulled on and laced up her boots and made her way to the door. At the last moment she remembered to bank the fire, then she left the inn and closed the door behind her. Maybe Eldon wasn't ready to see her yet, but she needed to see him. Just for a few moments, just to make sure he was well. After that, if he didn't want her company, she'd come back to the inn and spend the rest of the night reading.

Halfway down the now-dirty road, she stopped. Was she being too clingy? Surely if he wanted her company, he would seek it out. Wouldn't he? Maybe he was tired out by her constant presence. Maybe he needed some space to think, to be alone. Everybody needed alone time, after all. But he had been alone for so long... and he had even told her, the night before, that he led a lonely life here in Triel. _And_ he'd wanted her to stay here with him, whilst her friends returned to Scornubel. What was the point of her staying here, and then hardly seeing him?"

She continued on her journey, ignoring the occasional villagers who passed by her, wrapped up in their coats and scarves as they carried shovels and spades away from the areas they had been clearing. She was far too wrapped up in her inner turmoil to worry about the villagers right now.

When she reached the temple of Lathander she found it almost entirely in darkness; there was a dim light inside what she thought was the prayer hall, but none in Eldon's office, and none in the lantern outside the front door, which was locked when she tried to open it. Was this his way of telling her to go away? There was only one way to find out. She knocked on the door, and waited, shivering and wishing she'd brought her coat.

The door finally opened, and Eldon peered around it. When he saw her standing there he opened it wide to admit her, and she gratefully entered the warm building.

"Esmerelle, I was just coming to see you," he said. And when she looked at him, she saw that he did indeed have on his outdoor boots and coat. He locked the door behind her, took off his coat and hung it on a hook, then escorted her into the prayer hall. She immediately realised why the church had seemed dark from the outside - the only candles lit were the ones around the altar, forming a pool of light around the high, gold-coloured table which excluded the rest of the room.

"It's so dark and quiet in here," she said, shivering.

"We had very few visitors today, so I told Theore and Tiny to go home and enjoy having an afternoon off."

"But you stayed?" she said, gesturing to the candles.

He nodded. "To pray, and ask the Lord of the Morning to bestow his wisdom and guidance upon me."

"And did he?"

"I'm afraid not. Either he didn't hear me, or he's sold out of wisdom and guidance," he said wryly. "So, what brings you to the church? If you've come to pray, you'll be the first visitor today who's done so. Most came for some minor healing for injuries taken last night. Some people, it seems, can't use a hold a knife without cutting their own thumbs."

"I didn't come to pray, but I would like to, now that I'm here," she said. He sounded disappointed, that none of the villagers had come for prayer. If it would cheer him up a little, she would gladly offer a prayer to her god.

"Choose a seat," he said, gesturing around at the empty hall. "It's not like I have a shortage of them."

She took a seat on the first bench, and closed her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her, as Eldon had taught her to do as a child. _Lord of the Morning,_ she thought, _I thank you for everything I have in my life. I thank you for helping Eldon and I to find each other again, and for giving him the love and compassion to accept me despite the stain of my true father's heritage. Thank you for giving me the capacity to feel your warmth and your love, and for giving me the ability to recognise love now that I have found it. Please forgive the fact that it has been over a day since my last prayer to you. I promise that I will try to be more dutiful, and would ask that you bestow upon this village and all who dwell within it the same love that you have shown to me._

For several minutes she kept her eyes closed, feeling the weight of her prayer settling over her. It felt good to acknowledge Lathander's influence in her life, to show gratitude for all that she had. Her life could had gone so differently, had Eldon not taken her from the temple of Bhaal. When she finally did open her eyes, she felt more relaxed, more at peace, and she was sure that the Morninglord had heard and acknowledged her prayer. A feeling of contentment settled over her, and she could almost _hear_ a voice telling her that all would be well.

She spied Eldon leaning back against the altar as he watched her, and she stood up to join him. As she approached, she noticed the chalices she had seen earlier, and gestured to them. "What are these used for?"

"Various different things." He turned and picked up one of the chalices at random, and handed it to her. "Have a look at it. Tell me what you see, and what you feel."

She examined the cup critically, aesthetically, as Lucas had shown her how to look at works of art. In terms of size, it was large enough for her to hold comfortably in both hands, and she could have easily fitted her balled-up fist inside it. At first she thought it was finished in gold, but the warmth and weight of the metal led her to suspect that it was made entirely from gold instead. Into the base of the cup were set four perfectly round, green polished stones, each one flawless. On the body of the cup there were engravings; small trees growing on a hillside, lambs frisking nearby, watched over by a small sun in the sky.

Then she closed her eyes, and concentrated on the feelings she got from the cup. Lucas had told her that this was something most people could do, they just didn't know it. Everything vibrated in a certain way, gave off a particular type of energy or emotion. Sometimes the vibration or energy came from the object itself; trees and stones and natural things had their own energy, and this was most easily discernible form. Next came the energy which had been imparted to an object during its creation. Sometimes it was done magically, or sometimes the love and care that went into creating an object stayed with it long after it was crafted. That was, he said, why the best archers made their own bows, and the best musicians made their own instruments. To create something with passion was to put a part of your soul a bit, and that item could echo that energy for years to come. The most difficult objects to feel were ones which had no energy of their own, and had not been imparted energy during their creation, but picked up energy from their users over long periods of time. A person might be drawn to an old antique chair, believing it had 'character'. What they were actually feeling was a resonance given off by the chair of the person or people who had used it frequently. The same could be said for many old objects, which was why so many people were willing to spend money on collecting old things.

Concentrating on the cup, images of it appeared in her mind. She saw the young trees and the young lambs and the green stones, and they made her think of spring. But Lucas had cautioned her that appearances could be deceiving, and that to _feel_ an object, to _know_ it, you had to look beyond the exterior, you had to look and listen to it with your heart and soul. And, as she listened, she thought she heard laughing voices, gurgles of happiness and high-pitched cries.

"Children," she said. "Babies, I think. That's what I feel." She opened her eyes. "As for what I see... a beautiful goblet made of gold, inlaid with four green gems, and carved around the outside with images that put me in mind of spring."

"Do you know the significance of these things?"

"They look nice?" she guessed with a shrug.

"To the uninitiated, yes. But to a full priest of Lathander, they are rich with religious imagery. For example, the lambs and the growing trees represent spring, which you were correct about. But you see the sun, up in the sky? It's small, signifying that during spring, Lathander's presence and power is still recovering from the long winter months. His power to create new life is still young and still growing, but it is there, banishing the winter. The gems are jade, though I have seen other goblets with emerald instead, and they are green because green is the colour associated with Lathander in spring. It is the colour of the grass beneath the snow, of the buds on the trees, and of new life. It also represents how Lathander works closely with Chauntea, the earth-mother, to bring about new life. There are four of them because they represent the points of a compass, north, south, east and west, and they signify the world, which Lathander watches over and protects. The gems are circular, which represent two things; the stages of life, those being infancy, childhood, adulthood and death, and they also represent the circle of life itself. The Morninglord teaches us that death is not the end of life, but for life to begin, there must be death too.

"This cup is called the Spring Chalice. It is used in spring ceremonies, and in the blessing of new babies no matter when they are born. It is also sometimes called The Cup of Creation, because Lathander is at his most creative in spring, when he has a blank canvas, so to speak, to work on."

"One little cup can say all of that?" she asked, surprised and a little awed about the thought that had gone into its creation.

"All of that and more. Here, have a look at this one, and tell me what you think."

The second goblet he gave her was identical in size and construction material, except the gems were not green, they were red. "Ruby," she said immediately. She had stared longingly at enough ruby necklaces in jewellers shops along the Sword Coast to spot the precious stone a mile away. Around the outside of this chalice, different images were carved. They showed large trees in full bloom, fish swimming in a river, and over them presided a large sun which dominated the sky. "Summer," she added, and closed her eyes. "Love," she said, recognise the warmth that came from the cup. "Happiness and... intimacy?"

"Not bad," he said, taking the cup from her. She opened her eyes and smiled at his praise. "You're quite good at this. And quite correct. Red is the colour of Lathander in summer, when his power is strongest. See the large sun in the sky? This is the Summer Chalice, and as well as being used in summer rituals and festivities, it is used in marriage ceremonies."

He handed her a third chalice, one with an orange stone she had seen many times before. "The stones are amber." Only this one did not have any dead insects in it, as she had often seen on sale. It was a curiosity to her, how the insects managed to become embedded in the stone. When she glanced at the rest of the goblet, she saw images of long ears of corn and rows of wheat etched into the surface, with a magnificent oxen standing in one field. Overhead, the sun was not as large as it had been on the Summer Chalice, but larger than the Spring. When she closed her eyes and focused on her feelings, she detected nothing. "I'd guess Autumn, and harvest-time. More than that, I can't say."

"In which case you guess correctly. The Autumn Chalice is used during harvest festivals mostly, and doesn't see any use in personal rituals like the other two. You were right about the amber, but not about its nature. It's technically not a stone; it is resin, secreted by trees and hardened." Well, that went some way to explaining how the insects got trapped inside. "I've seen cups with fire opals instead, but I think amber is more befitting the Autumn Chalice, since it comes from the trees which Lathander has helped to grow. Here. Take a look at the last cup. Its purpose should be obvious, by process of elimination."

The fourth cup he gave her had black gemstones embedded in its base, and depicted an image of a cold barren landscape and trees with no leaves. A wolf walked across the landscape beneath an empty sky, and she didn't have to concentrate to feel the energy of this cup. "Winter, and death," she said with certainty.

"Yes. The Winter Chalice is used during funeral rites. The stones are jet, which is a form of high quality coal that can be polished. Sometimes obsidian, volcanic glass, is used instead, but it's rarer, and more dangerous for the makers of the chalices to collect. There is no sun in the sky of the image, because Lathander is weakest in winter, when Auril is making herself felt. Of course, these Chalices are used throughout the northern realms, but in places which do not feel winter as we do, they use different goblets with different meaning and imagery."

"Thank you," she said, handing the cup back. "Sometimes I regret that I wasn't able to finish my training and become a real priest. I feel like I've missed out on so much. I wouldn't have guessed at even half of what you told me about those chalices."

"If you stay here, you could finish your training, and be initiated into priesthood," Eldon said, putting the cup down with the others. "It would be good for Tiny, to have somebody else to learn with. He's almost at the stage you were, when you left."

His words were a complete shock, and in more ways than one. "You would train me to become a priest?"

"Of course. You're a fast learner, and one of the most dedicated people I've ever met. I think you'd make a great priest."

"But that could take years."

"It's a big commitment," he admitted, "but if you applied yourself and studied hard-"

"I don't mean it like that. What I mean is, I would have to be here for years. Studying every day. With you. Are you sure you want that?"

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring, Esmerelle," he said, taking her hand in both of his. "I don't know if my feelings for you are wrong, or inappropriate, or natural. I don't know if I'll be punished eventually for everything we have done and will do. All I know is that today, I love you. I can see that, for reasons I can't even begin to understand, being with me makes you happy. I make you happy. And I want to make you happy, for as long as I am able. I don't want to hide from my feelings anymore. I don't want to hold back out of fear. I don't want to be afraid of feeling."

He leant down and kissed her, his mouth moving hungrily against hers, and as he pulled her body towards his she felt his urgent need for her, and felt her own body tingle in response. Though it had been less than twelve hours since they had lain together, she felt as if she had been apart from him for a lifetime. Her skin, starved of his touch throughout the day, felt afire where his hands touched her. Then, with no warning, he lowered his hands and picked her up, supporting her weight with his strong arms as he turned and placed her on the edge of the altar.

Anticipation of what was about to come made her body thrum with excited energy. Whilst her fingers worked deftly at unfastening the buttons of his shirt, a voice inside her head pointed out that perhaps making love on an alter dedicated to Lathander might not be the best idea in the world. But, another voice rebuked, Lathander was the god of love, birth and creation. There probably wasn't a _better_ place to do it. Especially given the fact that she loved Eldon, and he loved her. That just made it all the more right.

He pushed her onto her back and lay on top of her, teasing her throat with soft kisses as one warm hand crept slowly up her shirt to cup one of her breasts. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she prayed that he wasn't going to drag this session out all night. She wanted him now, without further delay.

The sound of a voice outside the front door caused Eldon to freeze. It was quickly followed by the sound of a key being jiggled inside a troublesome lock. "Damn," he swore, and, taking her by the hand, pulled her up from the altar. Bewildered and worried that they might be caught in some sacrilegious act, she let him pull her along towards one of the curtained alcoves, and they slipped behind the long red curtain just as the front door was being pushed open.

The sound of her own heart beating at a rapid pace was audible, to her. If they had moved from the altar even a moment later, they would have been caught. Even now she was not sure that they hadn't been seen, making their way to this impromptu hiding place. The alcove was large enough to accommodate both of them, but there wasn't much room to spare. Eldon pulled her close to him, to keep her from accidentally touching the curtains and giving their position away.

"Hello?" said a voice, and she recognised the speaker as Theore. "Dawnlord? Are you present?"

Eldon placed a finger over his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. As if she needed telling! There was no way she could explain any of this to the elderly priest. She could already see his disapproving expression when he learnt about what they had almost done on the holy altar. He might even have a heart attack.

She could hear Theore moving around in the room, but she could not deduce where he was. She didn't get chance to worry about it for long, as a new concern presented itself. Eldon lowered his head and resumed kissing her, his fingers returning to her shirt. How on Faerûn could Theore not hear their lips as they kissed? How could he not hear her deepening breaths, or the drum-like pounding of her heart? How could he not feel the intense heat that came from her body, the heat which Eldon could call forth with a mere touch or kiss or look?

There was the sound of footsteps approaching, and Esme closed her eyes. This was it. Theore was going to pull back the curtain and catch her with Eldon. Then would begin all the disapproval. She had thought that Eldon would pull away from her as Theore approached, but he only kissed her more fervently, pushing her body against the wall of the alcove with his own body, whilst pulling her in to him with his hands. But far from wanting him to stop, to be silent, she found herself willing him to continue. Her desire was no less due to almost being discovered; in fact, the chance of discovery, the knowledge that she was doing something she _shouldn't_ be doing, in a place that wasn't entirely suitable, just added to the excitement.

The footsteps grew louder, until she knew that Theore was right outside their alcove, but then they mercifully began to fade as he walked past. One part of her mind, the part that wasn't wrapped up in Eldon's kisses and thinking about his warm lips and tongue, noted that Theore knocked on the door to Eldon's office, called out for the Dawnlord again, and then closed the door when it became apparent he wasn't here. That part of her mind, the part that wasn't awash with joy and pleasure over the feelings inside her, felt a slight twinge of guilt. If Theore was looking for Eldon this thoroughly, perhaps he needed to speak to him about some urgent matter. That the old man had come from his house, all the way to the temple, just to speak to somebody who was hiding, made her feel bad. But only a little.

Again the footsteps came and went. The front door of the church was opened, and she heard more people enter the prayer hall. The part of her mind which was still employing common sense kept an ear open for what was happening inside the hall, as the remainder worked her fingers to unfasten the rest of the buttons of Eldon's shirt. His chest was smooth beneath her hands, like warm silk, and she let her touch linger where her fingers chose. Being given the freedom to fully explore a body was not something she had experienced before, and she was grateful that he allowed her to do so at her own pace, taking her time and enjoying the feeling of him.

"Is it safe for us to be here?" asked a man's voice, out in the prayer hall, in that other world which existed only as a hazy realm of disconnected sounds.

Her fingers wandered upwards, towards his shoulders and over his back as far as she could reach. Every muscle she felt was taut, full of tension, and he shivered at her touch. Not because it was particularly sensual, but because it was innocent, and as she touched him she was familiarising herself with the contours of his body.

"The Dawnlord isn't here," Theore said. "He must be at the inn, visiting his daughter."

At the mention of her, a little more of Esme's concentration returned to the prayer hall, to what was being said. But she was still mainly in the dark alcove, paying close attention to Eldon as he took hold of her hair and tilted her head back so that he could kiss her again. She was still _painfully_ aware of his body, pressed so close to hers that she could feel every inch of him through both of their clothing.

"I wish those outlanders would go back to Scornubel," another man said. "I don't like them being here, watching us. They're judging us. I can see it in their eyes."

"Their presence here has been arranged by the great Lord," Theore explained. "It is a blessing in disguise. They will keep the attention of the priests occupied and away from us."

Only at Theore's words did Eldon acknowledge that there were other people in the room. He stopped his kisses and tilted his head, to listen to what was being said. Though the alcove was dark, she could feel, rather than see, the frown on his face, the confusion inside him.

"What did you call this meeting for?" a third man asked.

"Because," Theore replied, "last night was a disaster. You all saw it. As we finished the Hunt and asked the great Lord to bless us, it began to snow. We never get fresh snow, this late in the season. It is a sign that Malar is not satisfied with our sacrifice. I doubt he ever has been."

Esme felt Eldon tense up for entirely different reasons, now. His body stiffened at Theore's words, and she didn't have to see his face to know how angry he was. She herself felt more afraid than angry. If Theore had turned away from Lathander and begun worshipping Malar... and to think, she had looked him in the eyes and not even seen his deception. She had been fooled by the old man's frail appearance. She had seen the failing sight, the white hair and the stiffened movements, and not seen the monster lurking within.

"What are you saying?" asked the second man.

"What we are doing is not enough. We need to do more. We need to do the High Hunt as it was originally intended. None of this compromise nonsense. A deer is no challenge, and it insults the great Lord that we capitulate to a priest of Silvanus. The simplicity and tameness of our so-called High Hunt offends him."

Esme kept her hands on Eldon, keeping him from moving. Not that he couldn't brush right past her if he chose, but by the sounds of it, this was supposed to be a clandestine meeting. The people in the prayer hall would not be pleased to be interrupted by a furious priest. Mentally, she willed him to stay still, to listen to what was being said, to use his head and wait until this was over, so that he could decide what to do about it.

"We've talked about doing more, in the past," a new voice said. Esme was grateful that she didn't recognise any of the voices. "But are we _sure_ we want to actually do it? Hunting and killing a person... isn't that going too far?"

"If it gets results, won't it be worth it?" Theore asked. "Somebody has to protect the village. Have things got any better here, since Nathaniel stopped the true Hunts? Have the winters become easier, and our children less hungry? Do the bugbears fear to attack us? I'm not suggesting the whole village be involved. But a few of us, the strongest and fastest of us, could perform a true hunt without anybody knowing."

"The priests will find out," said the first man.

"Not if we hold the hunt away from the village, in the woods."

"It's still dangerous. Eldon rarely leaves the village, but Nathaniel can spend days or weeks in the woods, even in winter. And he _watches_. His eyes are always taking things in. I hate talking to him... sometimes it feels like he _knows_, like he's seeing right inside me and listening to the secrets in my head."

"That is foolish. Half-elves can't read minds, it's just your own paranoia playing against you. Nathaniel is a ranger, a priest of Silvanus, not a mind-flayer."

"How big were you thinking of making this hunt?" another voice asked.

"Not too large," said Theore. "You five, plus another five. Men without families, preferably. The last thing we need is men pillow-talking about this with their wives. From there it would spread to the children, and one of them would slip up or tell Eldon. No, we need to keep this small and tight."

"What about Tiny?" one man suggested. "He's almost a man, and has no family."

"No, the boy adores Eldon. He hangs off the Dawnlord's every word, and wants nothing more than to become a priest of Lathander. We need to keep Tiny out of this."

As a long list of possible names was brought up, Esme pulled herself closer to Eldon, resting her head against his bare chest. The ardour of the moment was long gone, chased from the alcove by the dark words of the men, and the idea of the dark deeds they were discussing. She didn't want to be here, hearing these things, listening to men plan to kill another human being. She wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else, in Eldon's arms. But she could not unhear the things she had heard, and she could not pretend this was not happening. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, reassuring her. _Everything will be okay._

"When do we want to do this?" somebody asked, once the names had been agreed upon.

"We'll need to find prey, first," Theore explained. "It will be difficult, in winter, with fewer merchants travelling the roads. I know where a small group of Malarites, including a priest, are living in the woods not far from here. I could ask them to find prey for us."

"Why don't we just use one of the outlanders?" someone suggested. Esme's breath caught in her throat, and Eldon squeezed her tightly. His way of telling her that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

"Don't be foolish. The priests would notice if either one of them was taken. Besides, how do you know that neither one of them is with child? We can't hunt any creature which is carrying new life, be it human or beast, and I would hate to be party to a mistake like that. It might anger the beast-lord. No, we must hunt men, and only men. It is the only way to be sure. But first things first, we must make sure the other five that we select can be trusted with this. We must approach them subtly, and assess how they feel. Only once they are agreed can we truly begin. Each of you must select one man, and talk to him. We will meet again in five days."

"Blessed is the great Lord," they intoned together.

Esme held her breath as the muted sound of departing feet reached her ears, followed by the jingling of keys in a lock. For a count of a hundred Eldon waited, making sure that nobody was left in the prayer hall. Then he pulled back the curtains and stalked out angrily.

"I can't believe this! A secret conclave of Malarites, here in the village. And Theore as their ringmaster! How could I not have seen this? How could I have been so blind?"

"He was very good at keeping secrets," she said, trying to reassure him. After all, she hadn't seen his true nature either. "Do you think he was ever a true priest of Lathander, or do you think he turned to Malar at some point?"

"I don't know," he sighed, sitting down on one of the prayer benches and staring toward the front of the church, towards the large statue of Lathander which overlooked the altar. He looked so young and so heartbroken that it tore her up inside to see him this way. Stepping towards him, she gently pulled his head towards her, letting it rest against her stomach so that she could stroke his hair.

"Did you recognise any of the voices?" she asked quietly.

"Two for sure, yes. One I'm not sure of, and the other two I didn't recognise. I wish I could have seen their faces. I wish I knew which men they will pick to talk to, out of all the ones they mentioned. They could be trying to convert anybody."

"Not anybody. Not men with families."

"I suppose that's some small comfort," he sighed.

"What do you want to do about all of this?"

He took her hands from his head and stood up, his brows creased in thought. "I think I can't deal with this alone. I need to meet with Nathaniel. He spends a lot of time in the woods, he might have seen these Malarites that Theore spoke of. And he may be able to offer some suggestions about how we should deal with this threat. I just wish I could speak to him at length without arousing suspicion. Somebody is bound to notice if I go and see him."

"Isn't it normal for priests to talk together?"

"Nathaniel and I don't always see eye to eye, about a large variety of subjects," Eldon said cryptically. "We don't talk that often, unless we happen to be passing each other in the street."

"Then come to the inn tomorrow evening for dinner," Esme suggested. "I will ask Shayla to invite Nathaniel; she's been spending a lot of time at the church of Silvanus recently. Nobody will think it amiss if you just happen to be visiting me whilst Nathaniel is visiting Shayla."

"That's an excellent idea. Thank you."

"Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?" she asked quietly. "Shayla went out earlier, and I don't feel like staying in the inn by myself. Not after everything we just heard."

"Of course not," he said, taking her in his arms and holding her protectively against himself. "You shouldn't be alone. You'll be safe here with me. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."


	32. Like You Mean It

Chapter 32.

Like You Mean It

"_Any writer, I suppose, feels that the world into which he was born is nothing less than a conspiracy against the cultivation of his talent."_ - James A. Baldwin

o - o - o - o - o

For the second night, Esme shared Eldon's bed. They crept beneath the blankets and curled their bodies together, holding each other, reassuring each other with their silent touch. She sensed that he was in no mood to continue their earlier activities, but she was glad he had allowed her to stay, to comfort him with her presence and be comforted in turn by his. She needed no words to understand how he felt; she could see his emotions clearly in his eyes. He was hurt and felt betrayed by Theore. Priests of Lathander were supposed to be the embodiment of goodness and nobility. They were supposed to be beyond reproach. That Theore had turned to worshipping another god was bad enough. That that god was Malar, and evil being of savagery and destruction, was even worse.

He woke her before dawn and let her out of the back door, so that Theore, or anybody arriving early for morning prayer, would not see her. Part of her wondered if it was also because he was ashamed of his relationship with her, and didn't want to suffer the whispers and accusations of the villagers. But then, wasn't she guilty of that, too? She had hidden the true nature of her relationship with Eldon from Shayla. She had lied about her motives for staying at the church two nights ago, and even now the thought of the elf, and the rest of her friends, finding out, made her cringe inside. The last thing she wanted was to see looks of disgust on the faces of her friends, but at the same time, she wasn't willing to stop seeing Eldon.

Few of the villagers were outdoors this early in the morning, and the few that she did see ignored her, as she ignored them. She had to ignore them, because the urge to look at them, to examine their faces, was too strong. Although she knew that she would not recognise the speakers from the church, because she had heard only their voices, the desire to find out who they were and put a stop to their dangerous ideas made her want to question everybody she encountered. But this was not her village. It was not her place to demand answers of people; nothing gave her that right, especially since she was a stranger here.

When she reached the inn she found it in darkness, which meant that Shayla, too, had stayed out all night again. It worried her that her friend was spending so much time in the church of Silvanus. Granted, she herself was spending even more time in the church of Lathander, but Esme had fewer responsibilities. She didn't already have a mate, who she loved, and who she had promised to start a family with. Not that she suspected Shayla of doing anything... inappropriate... with Nathaniel. Of course not. That would be silly. And very out of character. Shayla loved Daeghun, he was her world. She would never do anything to jeopardise that.

Would she?

Shaking her head at her musings, she stoked up the fire and opened all the curtains, ready to admit the light of Lathander into the common room. Seating herself beside the fire, she tried to picture, in her mind, what a child belonging to Shayla and Daeghun would look like. Would it have Shayla's pale skin, black hair and blue eyes? Or Daeghun's darker skin tone, green eyes and brown hair? Perhaps the child would be more of a combination, maybe with fair skin, green eyes and dark brown hair. And since Shayla had no siblings of her own, perhaps she would let Esme be a surrogate aunt to the child. The thought of holding a baby in her arms made her smile.

Suddenly, something Theore had said the night before popped into her mind. _"Besides, how do you know that neither one of them is with child?"_

Why hadn't she thought of that herself? She had learnt long ago how babies were started - Aggie had been quite graphic in her descriptions of both conception and childbirth - but what if one had already started inside her, after what she and Eldon had done the previous night? Although the idea of she and Eldon having a child gave her a warm feeling inside, it mostly terrified her. She couldn't have a baby. Not now. Not like this. She couldn't raise a child in this terrible place, where it would grow up amongst the greyness and be subjected to evil sacrificial rituals.

If she fell pregnant, what would Eldon say? He claimed he hadn't thought about a family of his own, but had he even considered the possibility when he had carried her to his bed and made love to her, not just once but several times? Aggie had told her that a woman could only conceive during a certain time of her menstrual cycle, but Esme had no idea what that time was. It was something she had never needed to know, because she had never been around the type of men she might possibly want to be intimate with. Not until now, anyway.

What should she do? Maybe she should tell Eldon that she couldn't share his bed anymore. He would understand, wouldn't he? She closed her eyes and considered it. No, he wouldn't understand. She had told him that she loved him, and encouraged him to touch her, to kiss her, and make love to her. To then take all of that away, to tell him that she didn't want him to make love to her, or kiss her, or touch her, after all, would hurt him deeply. And she _would_ have to tell him that. It wouldn't be enough just to stop sharing his bed. She knew that at the first touch, the first kiss, the first feeling of his beautiful, warm lips on skin, she would give in. She would not be able to stop herself because she had no self control around him.

Perhaps it didn't need to come to that. There were certain herbs one could take to prevent conception. And, had it been spring, she could have prepared the medicine easily, within an hour. But it wasn't spring. It was winter. Only the evergreen herbs such as rosemary would be available in winter, albeit buried under feet of snow, but rosemary was not one of the components of the medicine. No, for her purposes she would need elecampane, smartweed and goldenseal - plants which could not tolerate extreme cold and low light.

Shayla had said, previously, that she used herbs to prevent pregnancy, so maybe she had some that Esme could use. Then again, maybe what worked for elves didn't work for humans. And if Shayla used a different combination of herbs in her medicine, they might have negative effects on Esme. What worked for one species didn't always work for another. And besides, if she asked Shayla for help, the elf would know _exactly_ why she wanted such medicine. She wouldn't be able to keep her relationship with Eldon secret any longer.

It was then she remembered something Shayla had said; Nathaniel claimed to have a collection of herbs in his arboretum. If he had what she needed, she could make the medicine needed to prevent conception! Then she wouldn't have to stop sharing Eldon's bed after all. And if she was going to be making herself one set of medicine, she might as well see what other herbs Nathaniel had, and possibly spend the day making some potions. It had been almost a year since she had put her skills in that area to use, and she didn't want them to become rusty.

Feeling pleased with herself, she took her coat from the hook behind the door and left the inn. She didn't know where the church of Silvanus was, but since the morning was promising to be clear and bright, she didn't mind wandering for a while to look for it. Besides, it was about time she saw a little more of the village. So far, her only journey had been between the inn and the church, the only sights along the way being houses and the shrine dedicated to Malar.

After a few minutes of walking she came to realise that the village was mostly the same no matter where inside it she went. The houses were of almost uniform size and construction; the larger ones had simply been added to over the years, and it didn't appear that any new ones had been built lately. The population of Triel, it seemed, was stagnant. Neither growing nor shrinking, but remaining almost constant throughout the years. Which was probably a good thing; as the village was encircled by the protective palisade, expansion would have been impossible without dismantling and rebuilding the wall. But that would probably have left the place too vulnerable to attack by monsters.

When she finally located the church of Silvanus, she studied it critically in the morning light. Though its doors were open, there were no lanterns outside to welcome parishioners, as there were outside the church of the Morninglord. But although Silvanus' church looked cold, life proliferated around it. Ivy wound its way down from the roof, clinging to the columns which framed the open door. The space around the building was given to trees of varying types; deciduous and evergreens were both present. She recognised willow, cherry, aspen and pine, then gave up trying to identify them. It was difficult in winter, when they lacked leaves, and they were not the reason she had come here.

Stepping inside the church, she noticed even more differences between this place and the church of Lathander. Silvanus' prayer hall had benches, but they were smaller, fewer and less regimented. Instead of being arranged in orderly rows, they were placed in a loose semi-circle. Instead of being able to seat ten people each, they could seat only three or four. Instead of being polished lovingly to a shine, creeping plants grew up the backs of them from pots of soil which had been placed behind them. Inside the alcoves of this hall were no gilded statues or works of art, but young saplings standing firm in yet more pots of soil. Trellis had been fixed to the ceiling, and from it dangled a variety of lianas: ivy, clematis and honeysuckle, which filled the air with a rich, sweet aroma.

"So you've come to take me up on the offer of a tour?"

Esme jumped and turned, and found Nathaniel behind her, watching her intently with his purple eyes. "Yes, I have. Thank you."

"This is the main hall," he said, gesturing around the room.

"Do you get many worshippers here?" she asked, curious about whether the people in Triel were more interested in Silvanus than they were in Lathander. Or, rather, whether the women were more interested in Nathaniel than they were in Eldon.

"Some," he said with a shrug. "I have a few regulars, mostly young men and women who are bored inside the village and wish to hear tales of more interesting places, or wish to be away from the eyes of their parents for a time. The flock here is not as large as the one at the church of Lathander, though, if that is what you are wondering." He smiled. "Then again, I do lack Eldon's flair for delivering passionate sermons."

She chose to ignore the bait. "Being inside this hall makes me feel as if I'm in a forest," she said, glancing up at the climbing plants, and the stained glass windows which depicted trees, birds and animals in calming, natural colours. "It feels so peaceful, but with a different peace than the church of Lathander has."

"I'm glad you think so. During the harshest times of the winter, birds and small animals come here, to stay warm and fed. But this winter has not been quite so bad, so there are only a few mice and sparrows around at the moment."

"May I ask you something?"

"You may."

"Eldon told me that you and he don't always agree about certain matters, that you don't always see eye to eye. What sort of things do you disagree about?"

He gestured at a nearby bench, waiting for her to sit before taking a seat beside her. "Mostly about the villagers, and how they can best help themselves. The way Eldon sees it, the villagers need to become more self-sufficient, they need to rely less on trade, which can be unreliable, as you are well aware. He wants them to become farmers, to learn how to plant crops and harvest them. He wants them to raise cattle and sheep, to use their meat, their skins, their coats, their milk, to provide food and clothing. Like all priests of Lathander, he believes their lives can be enriched by music and art. He wants to make them more cultured."

"And your view on it?" She couldn't see how or why his view would be different. Surely farming was not a bad thing. As for music, art and culture, they were wonderful things which could make people feel alive. Through song, dance, poetry and literature, people could find ways to relate to each other.

"To become farmers, the villagers would have to cut back the forest. To raise cattle, and sheep, they would have to remove trees and erect fences to keep the animals penned. The horizon would become a barren, featureless landscape of farmhouse after farmhouse. And they would ultimately fail, because the soil here is not rich enough to support crops, or large numbers of cattle. What grow best here are trees, such as the few in their orchard and the many in the forest. The villagers should learn not to alter the land to their own whims, but to accept what they have and work with it. The roots of the trees bind and aerate the soil. When their leaves fall in autumn, they decompose and nourish the ground. Without the trees, the land would not become more fertile, but even less so. The forest can provide for them, and Silvanus can aid them, if only they will make the effort to learn."

"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that you and Eldon hold certain ideals in common; growth, creation, new life, and respect for nature. And you want the same things; you want the High Hunt to stop, you want the villagers to become more interested in taking responsibility for their own lives, and you want them to become more self-sufficient. Would it not ultimately be better if you got together and worked out some sort of compromise? I'm sure that between you, with a plan, you could accomplish far more working towards a common goal than either of you could alone."

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "But our ways are very different."

"But not entirely incompatible. Instead of competing, why not compromise?"

"I will admit, Esmerelle, that there is wisdom in your words. But such words are irrelevant until the villagers come to realise they have to take their lives into their own hands."

"How can you, either of you, expect the villagers to co-operate and show some responsibility, if you don't do the same? If you can't put in the effort to even _try_ for a working compromise, why should they bother with putting effort into trying? Shouldn't you be in front of them, leading by example, instead of behind them, cracking the whip?"

"You make me sound like a harsh task-master. What response did Eldon give to your suggestions?"

"I haven't exactly talked to him about it," she admitted. "He told me about how he's been trying to help people to help themselves since he got here. He said that they're too stubborn to learn new things, that they cling to their traditions, and don't even have any festivals, faires or celebrations, other than the Hunt."

"Well, I'm sure you have had far better things to discuss during your times together," he said, and for all the world she could not tell whether he was intimating something or not. "Would you like to see the rest of the church?"

"Very much so."

He led her towards a door set in the far end of the hall, in the centre of the back wall, and it opened up into a bright room awash with greenery. The trees in here came in all different sizes, from small shoots and seedlings to saplings as tall as herself. They weren't planted in pots of soil, though; the floor itself was a raised carpet of grass and moss, and the trees grew directly out of the ground. Esme stared around in amazement. She had seen something similar in Silverymoon, in Treant's Hall, but that wasn't an indoor forest, it was five buildings constructed around an open courtyard of trees. But this... this was a marvel.

"How do you manage to water them all?" she asked.

"Straight to the practicalities of it, eh?" he smiled. Then he tapped the nearest stone wall. "There are pipes hidden inside, which go from water collectors on the roof and run to the floor, then along it in a latticework. The pipes have holes in, and allow water to drip out at regular intervals. This room sustains itself even when I am away." He pointed at the ceiling, which turned out to be mostly constructed of thick glass. "The sky-light is dome-shaped. Rain runs off it into the collectors, and snow usually drops off. If it was allowed to build up, it would block out the light, and the trees would slowly die. But that rarely ever happens."

"And the soil? How do you aerate it?"

"There are worms living inside it. This is not just a room, which I tend to. It is a living environment. The soil here came from outside, and is the same infertile soil that prevents crops from taking hold. Only, the soil in this room is no longer infertile. The plants enrich it, and their decaying leaf-litter becomes the next layer of nutrient-rich earth. Did you know that, Esmerelle? Did you know that dead matter and weathered rocks become soil? We eat the plants which have grown out of millions of years of death and decay. Nature does not waste a single thing; everything around us is a living system, and when we die, we are not lost to the cycle."

"Death is not the end of life, but for new life to begin, there must be death," she said with a shiver of understanding. It was what Eldon had told her the night before, as they had discussed the chalices. At first she hadn't comprehended it; surely a just god would not allow death to happen? Now, though, she understood. Death fed life; everything living was born and was condemned to die, not because life was harsh and the gods were cruel, but because that was the way of things. To take away death was to take away life. Just as you could not have light without dark, you could not have life without death, and it was death which made life worth living. The circle of life was never-ending.

"Yes, that's right." He sounded surprised by her words. "Most people do not grasp the truth of it so quickly."

"Our faiths are not as different as you might think." She craned her head, looking between the small trees. "Is Shayla here?"

"No, she left earlier for a walk in the forest outside. She said she would be returning to the inn later, though, if you need to speak with her."

"She's been spending a lot of time here recently," she said, deciding to probe a little.

He shrugged noncommittally. "Whenever you put a group of people together, the like-minded people tend to seek each other out, whether intentionally or not."

"Shayla told me she comes here to commune with the spirits."

"And she does," she shrugged again. "Or at least tries to."

"And who, between you, did the 'seeking out'?"

"After I returned from fetching the stag for the Hunt, Shayla came here to apologise for being so rude in the forest, and to invite me for dinner. I have not been forcing my company upon her, if that is what you are asking."

"She has a mate, you know," she said, deciding to be blunt.

"Yes, I know. Daeghun, I believe? She has spoken about him at length."

"She loves him very much. And I don't want to see either of them get hurt."

"They are both very lucky, to have a friend who cares so much about them." She could have screamed at his infuriatingly calm tone of voice and carefully chosen words. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and yet he feigned total innocence! "Would you like to see the last room?"

She nodded, and he led her onwards, into a room of a similar size to the one with the trees, only this one held vast square troughs of soil, and growing in them were a large variety of different plants. Everything present had a purpose, whether in seasoning food or as a herbal cure, and she even saw some plants that she didn't recognise. They were arranged around the room in troughs of different heights, with the taller plants such as rosemary being low to the ground, the plants of middling height such as mint being further up, and the smaller plants such as thyme being high enough to reach without bending.

"You grow nightshade here?" she asked, spying a tall plant which she recognised.

"It can have some medicinal benefits when prepared carefully," he explained. "It is a plant that has a poor reputation."

"What's this one?" She pointed to a plant she didn't recognise, which grew just above her own knee height and had small purple flowers growing out from its stem.

"Hyssop. It's a herb that doesn't normally grow in these northern regions, though it can be found in central and southern Tethyr, which is where I found this specimen, and it grows like a weed throughout Calimshan."

"What use does it have?"

"In medicine, it can be combined with other herbs to aid somebody who has breathing problems. It can be eaten, but the taste is strong, so is best in small quantities in soups and the like."

"And this one?" she asked, indicating a strange looking plant that had tall, spiky thick leaves with serrated edges, and which tapered to a point from the base.

"A plant called aloe-vera. It grows only in hot, dry places, like Calimshan or the Anauroch. It's used by people in those regions in various ways. Cut a small section from the tip of one leaf, if you like, and I'll show you what I mean."

She did as he suggested, taking out her knife and cutting a piece half the length of her small finger from the tip of one leaf. Liquid immediately began to seep out from both the piece in her hand and the leaf of the plant. The leaf was thick and fleshy, and felt a little waxy to her touch.

"The liquid, and the flesh inside, is applied directly to the skin, literally wiped over it. It can soothe the heat of a burn, and is used by the locals where it grows to cool sunburn. It also helps to moisten and sooth dry or itching skin, and may be used to help clean an area around a wound, as it will not sting or burn if it gets into the wound itself. If enough of the plant is harvested, the juice can be collected, and I've been told that when it is consumed it can aid with digestive problems, though I've never put that to the test myself."

"I'm impressed by the sheer range of plants and herbs you grow here," she said. "It reminds me a little of Eldon's vegetable garden, only you can grow your herbs indoors, all year round, without having to worry about the weather."

"Where do you think Eldon got the idea for his vegetable garden from? Though he was too impatient to plant trees, wait for them to grow, and eventually provide a layer of more fertile soil; he imported his soil from the coast. I supposed that's one of the disadvantages you humans have, with your shorter life spans. You simply don't have the time to wait around for things to happen. You have to take short-cuts. Still, I was interested to see if his experiment would work, if soil brought here from another place could yield results. I think the winter irks him. He would grow things year-round, if he could, but the church of Lathander has no glass roof to emit light, and was not designed with water transportation in mind."

"Would it be okay if I took some parts of some of your herbs? I was hoping to spend a day or two making some potions."

"It it no problem to me, but perhaps you should ask the Forest Father himself. It is his church, after all."

"Ask Silvanus? How?"

"How would you speak to Lathander?"

"Through prayer. But I never expect an answer."

"And yet you keep praying anyway?"

"I see your point. But I've never prayed to another god before." In fact, the thought of praying to any other god than Lathander made her feel... uncomfortable. Many people offered prayers to more than one god, depending on the season, or their own personal circumstances - a farmer might pray to Chauntea or Lathander in spring, for blessings upon his crops. When hoping to catch the eye of a woman, he might offer prayers to Sune to aid him in the pursuit of love. When war loomed upon the horizon, he might pray to Tempus for courage in battle. In winter he might beseech Auril, asking her to spare him the worst of her wrath. But Esme didn't feel that she was just anyone. She felt that she had, in some way, dedicated her life to the Morninglord, even though she had never become a full priest.

"It's no great sin. Just close your eyes, and pray."

As he instructed, she closed her eyes, and tried to form her thoughts into some semblance of a prayer. _Great Forest Father_, she thought, _ I want to thank you for all that you provide. When I was living alone, in the High Forest, all that I had came from you. I survived by collecting food from the forest in the autumn, enough to help me last until spring. I thank you for the bounty that you provided for all of those years, and would like to request another boon from you. If it is not too much trouble, could I please ask that I be allowed to remove some parts of the herbs that Nathaniel grows in your arboretum? I promise I won't take more than I need, and I will use everything that I do take, if you would allow._

When she had finished her prayer, she opened her eyes. Long ago, in the temple of Lathander where she had spent her youth, one of the priests had told her that the gods did not necessarily choose to answer their supplicants with words. Sometimes they sent signs, portents or omens which had to be interpreted by the individual. Sometimes they did not speak, but replied instead with feelings, or made their presence felt in other ways. Esme tried to open her heart and mind, to be receptive to Silvanus' will, but he if answered, she did not hear.

"Did the great Forest Father give you his reply?" Nathaniel asked.

"I don't think so. What does that mean?"

"I think he does not mind you taking what you need from this place, for something in return."

"What sort of 'something'?" she asked skeptically.

"Perhaps once you have made your potions, you could bring one here, to be offered to Silvanus in thanks for his generosity."

"Of course, I will happily bring you a potion. Is there any particular type you would like?"

"Surprise me," he smiled. "Now, what herbs would you like?"

"I'd like to have a look around, at what you have, before I make any decisions. If that isn't a problem?"

"By my guest."

When he gestured for her to take a look around, she began wandering between the rows of herbs, inspecting everything which was growing in the room. The herbs she did not recognise she ignored; though she would dearly have loved to have learnt about them, right now she had more specific needs. She could always come back later, to talk to Nathaniel about the herbs she didn't know of, but for the moment she picked only what she knew would be useful to her needs. The elecampane could be used not only for her contraceptive medicine but also to create a potion of strength. She chose rosemary and sage, for their culinary use, feverfew, for its medicinal purposes, lavender, which she could use to scent her clothes and primrose, which had various uses. Then she picked the goldenseal and smartweed that she'd come for, and added valerian and comfrey just in case Nathaniel became suspicious about her choice of herbs. He watched attentively as she picked each particular part of the herbs she required, but offered no comment until it was obvious she was finished.

"Do you mind if I ask what you intend with these?"

"I will use some for making magical potions, others I will use for herbal remedies, and others I will use for cooking, to flavour my food."

"Some of these can be dangerous, if prepared incorrectly or in too high a dosage, or mixed with other things which can cause a reaction," he said. "Are you sure you know what you are doing with them?"

"Quite sure, yes. But thank you for your concern."

"Well, I look forward to seeing what you come up with. Would you like me to tie those cuttings up for you? It will make them easier to carry back to the inn."

"Yes, I would appreciate that," she said, handing him the armful of herb stalks.

He took them and disappeared for a moment, and she took the opportunity to wander back into the room with the saplings, to sit down and enjoy the greenery. Outside, snow would be blanketing the ground for weeks yet, but in here she could pretend that it was spring, and that the winter was just a memory.

She wished she could talk to Nathaniel about Theore, about the secret meeting that she had been privy to, but it was not her place, and he might not even believe her. It was down to Eldon to describe the things he had heard, and to make plans with the priest of Silvanus. She couldn't even risk asking him to come for dinner, because it would be out of the ordinary for her to do so. Instead, she had to hope that Shayla would be back in time, that she could talk to the elf and convince her to invite Nathaniel over to the inn after dark.

When Nathaniel returned, he had tied the stems of her herbs up in to manageable bunches, and he handed them back to her. "Thank you for stopping by. Should you require anything else..."

"I'll let you know," she smiled.

"Actually, I was going to advise you to ask Silvanus."

"I'll do that. Thank you."

She took the herbs from him and left the temple, stepping out into sunlight and snow, which at first seemed bright and harsh compared to the dim tranquility of Silvanus' church. She blinked several times to clear her vision, and walked away from the church, retracing her steps back to the Whispering Wind. When she arrived there she found it still devoid of Shayla so she took her herb clippings into the kitchen and began preparing them as necessary. First she began with the plants she would need for her contraceptive concoction, wanting to get that made so she could take it as soon as possible - preferably before Shayla returned to question her over their use.

Once her medicine was complete, she put it in an empty bottle and left it to one side to settle. Then she prepared herself for some serious work, and decided to make healing potions, strength potions and invisibility potions. She would give one of the healing potions to Nathaniel, as he would probably find it the most useful, and the rest she would keep for herself, or give to her friends for when they resumed their travelling.

It was with a sinking feeling in her heart that she thought of the people she had come to know and love since they had found her in the High Forest two years ago. Since then they had helped her to become everything that she was today, and without them she would most likely still be living alone in Aggie's cottage, afraid of people and afraid of the darkness running through her veins. Without her friends she would never have found Eldon again, would never have found love. The thought that when they moved on in spring, she might not be moving with them, put her a melancholy mood for the rest of the day.

Shayla returned in the middle of the afternoon, after Esme had finished with her potions for the day and turned her attention to dinner. Esme immediately asked her to invite Nathaniel for dinner after dark, but did not say why, only that secrecy was of the utmost importance and everything would be explained to her at night. Though Shayla had been skeptical, she had little choice but to trust Esme, or let her curiosity go unsatisfied. And to somebody like Shayla, who demanded answers for everything, being kept out of a secret was too much to bear.

For dinner, Esme decided to roast some vegetables and moisten and cook some of the dried meat. In the inn's small cellar she found turnips, parsnips, onions and carrots as well as cabbage and sprouts. She attempted to make gravy from stock, which turned out mostly okay if a little lumpy, and she looked around for something with which to make a dessert, any type of dessert, but could find nothing of use so gave up that idea.

As she cooked, she realised that since leaving the High Forest, she had taken for granted how easily it was to find food, once she had coin. When she had been living alone, in Aggie's cottage, she had needed to find, gather, store and prepare all of her own food which had taken a substantial amount of time. Though some food plants had a long growing season, and could be harvested from summer, the majority could not be taken until autumn, which meant that once fruit, vegetables, nuts and seeds had ripened, she only had a short period to store enough to see her through winter, spring and early summer. Now, though, when she wanted food all she had to do was walk into any inn, tavern or shop and order it cooked and ready for eating. Cooking in the kitchen of the inn was helping to her to recall old recipes that Aggie had taught her, as well as recalling old memories of spending days and evenings cooking with the old woman.

As night approached, she surveyed all she had made. She had roasted the turnips, parsnips and carrots and seasoned them with the sage she had picked from the church of Silvanus. The cabbage, onions and sprouts had been chopped into a broth, into which she had added some of the dried meat. The rest of the meat she had cooked thoroughly and used rosemary to flavour it. Even though the evening had technically been arranged to discuss Theore's treachery, she did not want everybody to go away on an empty stomach. Besides, she owed Eldon one meal, at least.

Darkness descended, and Esme finally let herself relax and stop working. She hung up her apron behind the bar and dropped into a chair beside the fire, where Shayla was once again looking at the pictures in a book. The elf had offered to help with the cooking, after she had returned from inviting Nathaniel to dinner, but Esme had declined her offer. Working for hours in the same room as Shayla may have lead to talking about subjects she was not yet comfortable discussing, so she had opted to do all the work of preparing dinner alone.

Nathaniel was the first to arrive, just after dark. He seemed momentarily surprised to see Esme there, so perhaps Shayla had neglected to mention that this was not some intimate dinner between the two of them. If the priest was disappointed by her presence, though, he didn't show it. He greeted her politely and enquired about how her day had been, and when she offered him a drink he asked only for water. Then they waited in silence. Shayla was doing an excellent job of pretending she wasn't almost bursting with curiosity about the purpose of this strange dinner arrangement, whilst Nathaniel made a show of examining the books on the shelf. Esme almost sighed with relief when the door opened and Eldon entered the inn.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, stamping his feet to rid them of snow as he hung his coat up on a hook beside the door, "I had some business to attend to at the church which couldn't wait." He embraced Esme lightly, before focusing his gaze on Nathaniel. "Thank you for coming."

"I still don't know what it is I've come _to_," Nathaniel replied. "I thought I would be dining with Shayla. Instead, I discover we're having a party."

"I'm sorry," Shayla said, standing up and taking a step towards the priest. "Esme would tell me nothing, only that I should invite you for dinner. I hope she will be explaining the purpose of all this secrecy very soon." The last was said with added glare for Esme.

"Why don't you all sit down, and I'll fetch dinner," Esme said. She gestured to one of the tables, which she had already laid with plates and cutlery. "Then we can talk."

Trusting that her guests would comply without argument, she returned to the kitchen and brought out the broth, then the vegetables, then the meat. Though the vegetables had been quite old and a little wrinkly when she had found them in the cellar, they had cooked nicely, and their flavour had only grown with age, not diminished with it. The broth smelt rich warming, just what was needed on a cold winter night, and the roasted meat was just an added bonus.

"It must have taken you all afternoon to do all of this," said Eldon appreciatively.

"I'm glad to see some of the herbs have been put to good use," Nathaniel added.

"This looks wonderful, Esmerelle," said Shayla. "I will even forgive you for keeping me in suspense all afternoon."

"I should explain, now, the purpose in asking you here, Nathaniel," said Eldon, as they all helped themselves to the food. This was the part Esme had not been looking forward to. How would Eldon explain how they had overheard Theore without being seen? "Last night, whilst Esmerelle and I were talking inside the church of Lathander, we heard several men enter the prayer hall. One of these men was Theore..." Esme held her breath as Eldon continued to tell the tale of everything he had heard. Neither Shayla nor Nathaniel had questioned Eldon's simple explanation of 'talking', but they both looked thoughtful as the tale progressed. Eldon finished by describing how he had expressed the desire to speak to Nathaniel away from the prying eyes of the villagers, and how it had been Esme's idea to invite him for dinner.

"I can't believe it," Nathaniel said at last. "Not that I don't believe you. I do. But I remember when Theore first came here. He wasn't a young man, by any means. Much older than you are now, Eldon. But he possessed that same excitement and fervour which is common to the young. He was so dedicated to the Morninglord. He delivered his sermons with zest even if there was only a single worshipper in the prayer hall. For him to have gone from that, to worshipping Malar, in little more than the blink of an eye..."

"Thirty years is hardly the blink of an eye."

"Not to you, no. But I have to wonder when this happened. I have known Theore, not well, but well enough to judge his soundness of character, since he came here. Were there warning signs, which I should have seen but missed? Was I too preoccupied with my own affairs to notice his faith wavering? Did I spend too much time out in the forest, hunting for monsters out there, when all along I should have been hunting for monsters in the village? Would I even have noticed if I _had_ been looking? I saw no changes in his behaviour whatsoever."

"I understand your concerns. I, too, was fooled by him. I delivered sermons with him almost every day, and spent much of my free time with him, and never once detected that he was no longer one of Lathander's faithful. What concerns me more, though, is that I have seen him using his spells, to heal people and to teach Tiny, even very recently. Why would the Morninglord grant power to a priest who is no longer true to him?"

"You're not here to question when Theore turned away from Lathander and began worshipping Malar," Esme reminded them. If left to their own devices, the men would likely wallow in guilt and self-pity all night. "You're here to discuss what to do about it."

"You're right, Esmerelle," Eldon said, taking her mild rebuke to heart. "How and when this happened is not important right now. What is important is stopping Theore and the others before they can carry out their plans."

"You said," Nathaniel said slowly, "that the men had agreed to meet again in five days, once they had had chance to meet with others and increase their numbers. And if that was last night, we technically have four days in which to make a plan and execute it."

"That's how I see it, too. I would have met with you earlier today, but I couldn't do so without raising suspicions."

"And you say you recognise two of the voices who spoke, for sure?" Eldon nodded. "Then the way I see it, we have two options. The first, we could take these two men, and Theore, into custody right now. We could put them in the gaol and try them for plotting to commit murder."

"I've considered that," said Eldon. "In fact, if Esme hadn't stopped me, I would have interrupted their little meeting there and then and thrown Theore and probably the rest of them in the gaol. But right now, I can only be sure of two of their identities. If we act now, we might never find out who the other three are, or who else they have spoken to."

"In which case the second option would be to wait until the five days are up, to follow Theore to his meeting place, which might be the church again, if he once more believes you are out, and to interrupt the meeting and take all who are there to the gaol to await trial."

"I thought that to be the better plan, but there is a flaw with it."

"Numbers," Nathaniel nodded thoughtfully. "They will be at least six. And if they bring the other five with them, they will be eleven, whilst we are two."

"Three, with my help," Esme said immediately.

"And four, with mine," Shayla added.

"No," said Eldon, "absolutely not. It is too dangerous. That goes for both of you. Whatever we decide, you will not confront these men with us."

"I do not need your permission," said Shayla coolly. "If I want to help-"

"No, Eldon is right, Shayla," said Nathaniel, and Shayla looked shocked by it. "Not only is it dangerous, but once we have taken these men into custody, we will need to explain to the villagers why we have arrested so many people. We can give these traitors no chance to make excuses. If you are there with us, they will say that you made up lies and stories, convinced us of their guilt when there was nothing but an innocent meeting of men. They will say that you used your magics to bewitch our minds for your own purposes. If we are to prove these men are guilty, we have to keep you out of this. Both of you."

"There is one other factor to consider," said Eldon, and he did not look happy. "One of the voices that I recognise belongs to a member of the militia. And half the names they rolled off belonged to militia-men. Even if we interrupt their meeting and ask the militia to put them in the gaol, the militia may refuse. Or may wait until things have quietened down and then free them."

"You can't take on eleven men alone," Esme said. She knew that Nathaniel was right, even though she didn't want to believe it. His arguments, at least, made sense. Eldon merely wanted to keep her out of harm's way.

"Maybe we won't have to. The temple of Lathander, in Scornubel has a retinue of knights stationed there, as well as several clerics. If we could get word to them of what is happening here, they could be here within a day and provide us with back up. We may even need them to escort the prisoners back to Scornubel; if we are to try them for murder, they need to be seen and punished by a court of law."

"Or maybe we could go straight to the source," Nathaniel suggested. "Regardless of what happens here, with Theore and the others, the Malarites out in the forest need to be stopped. They are the true threat, here. For the moment, all Theore and his fellows have done is talk. But if there are a group of Malarites hiding in the forest, and they are willing to look for 'prey' for a Hunt..."

"We're poorly equipped and manned to tackle a group of villagers. We stand less chance against a group of violent, trained killers."

"We need not go up against them ourselves. I could speak to the druid circle in the forest. They hate Malar, for his wanton destruction and blood-lust, and will capture or kill any Malarites they find. Without the Malarites, Theore will have nobody to capture his prey for him, and there will be no High Hunt. We could then arrest the men here at our leisure."

"How long would it take you to reach the druids?"

"Alone, if I eat before I leave and travel unencumbered, through the deep snow of the forest? All of the daylight hours, and half of an evening."

"And could the druids of the circle defeat and capture the Malarites in the forest?"

"Easily. But you will have to decide quickly. I cannot travel to Scornubel, to give word to the temple of Lathander there, _and_ go to the druid circle, both at once. It must be one, or the other."

"Not necessarily," said Shayla. "I can take the message to the temple in Scornubel. I know the way, am familiar with the terrain, and can easily avoid the bugbears if I am travelling alone. It is only a day's travel, which means if I set off at first light tomorrow, I can be back before evening the day after. You will have your knights, to do with as you wish, and Nathaniel can go and speak to the druids."

"I must admit," said Eldon, "the more allies we have in this, the greater our chances of success."

"Shayla," said Esme, "it's too dangerous for you to go alone. Let me go with you."

"I'm sorry, Esme," Shayla said, regret in her voice, "but you will only slow me down."

"So," she replied bitterly, "everybody can do something useful except me. I'm too weak or slow or fragile to be of any use." Now she knew how Duncan felt. He'd always claimed that the others didn't trust him, that they tried to coddle him and keep him out of harm's way. He was right, and now Esme was experiencing that same ostracism.

Eldon took her hand and squeezed it gently. "I will need your help keeping an eye on Theore whilst we wait for backup. We must make sure he doesn't suspect anything."

"Besides," said Nathaniel, "you have already helped, by coming up with a way for us to talk about this together, out of the eyes of the public."

"When will you set off for the druid circle?" Shayla asked.

"I too will leave at first light. I believe we're due for more snow tonight, which would only hinder my progress if I set off now."

"Then I will return with you now to the temple of Silvanus, so that I can reverie amongst the trees. We can set off together in the morning and it will appear that we are simply going for a walk in the forest. It will be less suspicious. If that's okay with you, of course."

"Both Silvanus and I welcome you in our church, as always," Nathaniel smiled.

"Before you go, Shayla," said Eldon, "I will write you a letter to deliver to the Dawnmaster of the temple in Scornubel. A written request for assistance from one priest to another will be addressed more speedily than the word of a stranger. Esmerelle, do you have some paper and ink I could use?"

"Of course. I have some upstairs. I'll go and find it for you."

"I will help you look," said Shayla, following her up the stairs.

When Esme reached her room, she pulled out her pack and removed from it the semi-waterproof satchel that Belvar had gifted her with, and took out a piece of paper. Then from the bottom drawer of her dresser she took her ink bottle and quill, and tried to ignore Shayla, who she knew was stood watching her. But it became much harder to ignore her when the elf blocked her access to the door. She just stood there, her arms folded across her chest, watching Esme with her speculative blue eyes.

"He loves you, doesn't he?" Shayla said after a moment.

"Of course he does," Esme replied. She shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way Shayla phrased the question. "He's my father."

"That is not what I mean, and you know it. Perhaps, when you were younger, he loved you as a father loves a daughter. But now it is much, much more than that, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking at the floor. So, that was it. Shayla knew. But how had the woman figured it out? Hadn't she been discrete enough? Had she done something or said something which had given their relationship away?

"And do you love him?"

"Yes, I do." She allowed herself to meet Shayla's eyes, to try and convey just how much she loved Eldon. "In a way that I have never loved anybody before."

"Then I am happy for you," Shayla smiled. Esme felt almost giddy with relief.

"You don't think it's... creepy, then? Or inappropriate? He's my father, after all."

"If he was the man who had conceived you with your mother, then yes, I would say that it is entirely inappropriate and I would discourage you from ever seeing him again. But he is not your father. He is the man who took you in and, for a while, raised you. He instilled in you his own values and gave you warmth and love and protection. You are not related, and when it comes down to it, he is a grown man and you are a grown woman. What you do with each other, whilst being blatantly obvious to anybody who sees the two of you together, is nobody else's concern. I am not Kiree, though. I neither require nor want details."

"No details," she smiled, "I promise. And thank you, for understanding."

"Do you wish to stay here with him? Permanently?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Inside, she felt the familiar turmoil which presented itself whenever she thought about the subject. "Leaving all of you, my friends, makes me feel so sad inside. But the thought of leaving Eldon makes me feel as if my chest is being squeezed and I struggle to draw breath. What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should follow your heart. And I think we should return to the common room, before the men wonder why it is taking us so long to find a bit of paper and ink."

Esme followed Shayla down the stairs, and felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Shayla did not disapprove. She wasn't disgusted by the thought of Esme and Eldon being together. And with any luck, the rest of her friends would feel the same. Although she did not require their approval, their disapproval would have hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

It didn't talk Eldon long to write the letter, and as he did, Shayla gathered all that she would need for the journey back to Scornubel. She took little, only what she could carry lightly; some fat-rich rations to provide her with much-needed energy, a canteen of water and a small knife, as well as her staff and bear skin cloak. Then she and Nathaniel said goodnight, thanked her for dinner, and disappeared together to the temple of Silvanus. It was only after they were gone that Esme realised Shayla had gotten the truth from her about Eldon, but she herself still had no idea about the nature of the elf's relationship with Nathaniel.

When the pair left, she turned to the table and began piling up the empty plates, so she could carry them more easily into the kitchen. Before she could finish, though, a pair of hands encircled her waist and pulled her away from the table.

"Leave those," Eldon said. "They can wait until tomorrow. I'll help you in the morning."

"I really shouldn't leave the kitchen a mess," she protested, stepping out of his grip.

"Is something the matter?" She could hear the hurt and confusion in his voice. She had never pulled away from his touch before.

"No," she lied, and then sighed. What was the use in pretending when he could quite clearly tell that something was wrong? "Yes. You won't let me help you when you arrest Theore and the rest of the men. Do you think I'm weak? Do you think I can't take care of myself, or defend myself if the need arises?"

"Esmerelle," he said quietly, stepping towards her. He took her face in both hands, holding her still so he could look into her eyes. "After everything you have told me about what you went through after running away from the temple, I don't doubt for even a moment that you can look after yourself and defend yourself. You are strong, fearless, resourceful and intelligent. Were it not for you I would have rushed out last night and arrested Theore there and then. I don't want to keep you from dangerous situations because I think you are weak, but because you are not just an ordinary woman. You are one of the Children of Bhaal. To expose you to anger, to violence, to hatred, to combat, might be to awaken the spirit of Bhaal inside you. And if that was to happen, and something awoke in side you that neither of us understands and you might not be able to control... I couldn't live with myself, knowing that I had done that to you. Please don't ask me to."

"I'm sorry. I should have known that you had a good reason for wanting me to stay out of this. I won't mention it again. And thank you for thinking of me."

"Most of the time you're all I _do_ think about," he said pulling her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and let herself draw strength from his closeness.

"What sort of things do you think about, when you think of me?"

"Well, I think about doing this." He kissed the base of her neck where it met her shoulder, letting his lips wander slowly up her neck. "I think about how happy you make me just by existing, and I think of ways of making you happy in return." His lips travelled along her jaw line, across her carotid artery and to her chin. "And then I stop wanting to think, because it's easier to act." His lips met hers, soft and warm, and he kissed her slowly, savouring every touch. When he pulled away from her, his eyes were animated by hidden fires in their depths. "Stay here with me, Esmerelle. Even if you don't want to continue training to become a priest, stay with me. I want to spend every day of my life making you happy. I want to make love to you every night and wake up beside you every morning. I want us to be wed, so that the whole world knows how much I love you, and so that everything I have is yours. I want us to have a home, a real house, where we can do whatever we like whenever we like and not be bound by the demands of others. I want your children to be my children, and I want us to give them something that neither of us ever had; a loving family, with parents and a proper home. I don't want to waste another moment with you."

"That's... all so sudden," she said, half thrilled and half terrified by his words. How could she tell him that even if she was ready to have children, she would not want to raise them here, in this dreary place? And marriage? That was a huge commitment! True, many people were wed at sixteen or seventeen, and at twenty-one she would soon be reaching spinsterhood, but as much as she loved Eldon, she wasn't sure if she wanted to settle down for her whole life. She hadn't even seen Baldur's Gate, yet. Or Luskan, or Amn, or many other places she had heard of in Lucas' tales. Eldon seemed to detect her reticence.

"I'm not suggesting we do all of that right away. We don't have to be wed next summer. I can wait for as long as you need. But the thought of losing you again is too much for me to bear. You have brought light into my life and reminded me of what it means to be alive."

"I'd like some time to think about your offer, if that is okay."

"Of course. I wouldn't want you to feel like you've rushed into something. I understand that I might have asked for too much, too soon. You just bring that out of me, I suppose. Should I leave you to be alone for a while?"

"There's no need for that," she smiled. "We're going to be alone here all night, after all."

"That's right. Plus, Theore is giving sermon tomorrow, so I don't have to be up early. And I do recall us being rudely interrupted last night." Her cheeks flushed at the thought of what they had almost done in the church. "You blush beautifully," he said, with a wicked smile. "Let's see if I can make you do that again tonight."

"Oh, I just need a drink first," she said, remembering the contraceptive medicine she had prepared earlier. "My throat's a little dry. Would you like something?"

"The only thing I want is you." He kissed her, then let her go. "But we can't have you being thirsty all night. You get yourself a drink, and I'll see to the fire."

She hurried into the kitchen and removed the stopper from her medicine bottle. As she took several sips, she thought about Eldon's words. He wanted to marry her. He wanted her to be his wife. At the thought of the word 'wife', an image sprang up of a comely but harassed-looking housewife wearing an apron and a headscarf and carrying a babe on her hip whilst two younger children pestered her constantly or chased the dog, trying to pull its tail. It was not a fate that appealed to her, but being somebody's wife didn't automatically mean becoming plump and boring, did it? Otherwise, so many women would not marry.

But what if that was what would happen if she married Eldon? What if she was left to raise the children during the day while he went out to work in the church? What if she was the one who had to deal with the cries, the tears, the tantrums and the mess, feeling more and more trapped each day? She shook her head. Of course it wouldn't be like that. Eldon wouldn't expect her to become some retiring frump whose only purpose in life was to cook his dinner and take care of the children. And she was sure that he would make an excellent father.

When she returned to the common room she found that he'd blown out most of the candles and banked the fire for the night, so that the room was dark except for the pool of soft candle and firelight around the hearth. Sitting in one of the chairs, he was examining the book Shayla had been looking at. When he saw her approach he put the book down and smiled. "All better?" he asked.

"Much better."

He held out his hands for her, and lifted her onto his lap, settling her into a position that would have had her old tutors suffering from apoplexy. "Now," he said, brushing away a stray strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear, "I think I was saying something about making you happy."

o - o - o - o - o

"Dawnlord Eldon! Dawnlord Eldon, are you here? Dawnlord Eldon!"

The voice, frantic with worry, ripped Esmerelle from a deep, dreamless sleep. She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing, blood pounding in her ears. What was happening? Why was someone downstairs shouting for Eldon?

Beside her, Eldon groaned and rolled over, looking at the curtained window. Light was coming in from around the edges of the curtain, which meant that it was morning already. Esme covered her hand and yawned; she felt as if she hadn't slept a wink all night, which was not an entirely inaccurate feeling. Every time she awoke, because of some dream, or because she felt the need to turn over in bed, or because she felt Eldon turn over in bed, he seemed to be awake too. And being awake had led to kissing, which had led to more, which had resulted in a long night of passion but very little sleep.

"Dawnlord Eldon!"

"Isn't that Tiny?" she asked, as she recognised the voice which called out.

"Yes, it is. And he sounds upset." He pushed back the bed covers and reached for his trousers. "I'll go and see what he wants.

Esme decided she might as well get dressed too. There would be no more sleeping today, not when she had more potions to make, and a kitchen to clean. Slipping her shirt over her head and pulling her trousers on, she followed Eldon out of the room and shivered as the cold wood of the stairs chilled her bare feet. Down in the common room, Tiny was hopping impatiently on the spot, the very picture of indecision. When he saw Eldon, however, the relief was evident on his face, and most of the tension dissolved from his body.

"What's wrong, Tiny?" Eldon asked.

"Dawngreeter Theore hasn't shown up for sermon yet!" Tiny exploded. "When I got to the church this morning, it was all dark and locked up. I thought maybe the Dawngreeter had overslept, so I went to his house to wake him up. I knocked and I knocked until I woke the neighbours, but Dawngreeter Theore never answered. What if something has happened to him? Maybe he's had a heart-attack in his bed, or fallen and broken his hip, or-"

"Tiny, Tiny, calm down," said Eldon. He put one hand on the boy's shoulder, which seemed to calm him. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a long gold-coloured key. "Here, take my key and open the church. Let anybody who is waiting into the prayer halls, then light the candles and tell the people that I'll be along shortly."

"Me, open the church? Prepare for the sermon, by myself?"

"I think you're ready for a little more responsibility. You've done all the rituals many time before. You know how to cleanse the room in preparation, and which order the candles need to be lit in. You won't have any problems. Now, the key is sometimes a little awkward, but you just need to jiggle it in the lock until it falls into place. Now, go and see to the church, and I'll go and make sure Theore is well."

The boy nodded and dashed off, clutching the key to his chest with both hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As he watched the lad go, Eldon frowned.

"What do you suppose has happened to Theore?" she asked. Some of Tiny's nervousness had rubbed off on her, and she found herself biting her bottom lip before she could stop herself.

"I don't know. But I have to investigate immediately."

"I'm coming with you." He opened his mouth. "Don't argue," she said, waving her finger at him. "Arresting men is one thing, but checking on the welfare of an elderly man is quite another. Now, go and put your shirt on."

For a wonder, he offered no arguments, and simply ran back up the stairs to retrieve the rest of his clothes. Meanwhile, Esme put on the socks and boots she had left by the door the day before, and pulled her coat over her shirt, fastening it up as she waited for Eldon to return. When he did, he wasted no time. He grabbed his coat and began pulling it on as he was halfway out the door, barely even noticing the cold.

When Esme followed him, almost jogging to keep up with his long stride, she realised Nathaniel had been right. It _had_ snowed again last night. Not as much as it had on the evening on the hunt, but enough to give the ground another inch of pristine snow. Hopefully the snow was not giving Shayla and Nathaniel too many problems on their respective journeys, but she could not afford to think about them now. For the moment, she had greater concerns. Having never been to Theore's house before, she stayed close to Eldon, letting him lead the way. A few people called out greetings to their Dawnlord, and he returned them without stopping. Esme trotted on after him, feeling like a dog following its master.

Eldon stopped outside a house, and he was not the only one there. Several people, men and women, were already clustered around, knocking on the front door and trying to peer in through the windows. They looked relieved to see Eldon arrive, and one of them approached immediately.

"Dawnlord, glad you're here," said the man. He removed his woollen hat and held it in both hands. "We heard Tiny trying to rouse the Dawngreeter, to no avail, so we thought we'd keep trying. If he's fallen, at least he'll know we're out here, trying to reach him, that he's not been forgotten."

"Have you been able to see in through the windows?" Eldon asked.

"No, the curtains are drawn, and the gaps are to small for us to see anything."

"And the door is locked?"

"Yes, tried it several times."

"The back door?"

"Locked."

"Alright, stand back and I'll have a look at the front door."

The villagers moved away and Eldon stepped forward. He tried the handle first, but it was locked, as the villagers had said. Stepping back, he turned sidewise and threw a kick at the door, aiming for close to the handle, where the lock was located. Then he kicked again, and again, and on the third kick the lock gave way. There was a cracking sound as something inside it broke, and to door swung gently open. Eldon went inside, followed by two of the village men, and Esme could hear them calling out for Theore as they moved through the house. A moment later they reappeared, and Eldon stood in the doorway to address the crowd.

"My friends," he said, his voice calm and full of authority, "please do not panic. I was afraid that something like this might happen. Several days ago, Dawngreeter Theore confided in me that he had, over the past few weeks, had dreams in which he heard Lathander call to him. He believed that he was being chosen for some higher purpose, and he may have gone somewhere in the village, or even left the village entirely, to be alone, to meditate in contemplation and await further instruction from the Morninglord. I am going now to the temple, to deliver a sermon, and to pray for Theore's safe and speedy return, and I hope that you will all join me there. Afterwards, I will look for the Dawngreeter myself, but it may be that he does not yet want to be found."

"Maybe Nathaniel can find him!" one woman called out. "I've heard it said that he can track a mouse through a field of barley."

"An excellent idea. Can I have a volunteer, to run to the church of Silvanus and ask Nathaniel for his aid?" Several people immediately volunteered, and Eldon sent one of the men off. Of course, the man would find nothing there; Nathaniel had left at sun-up, to entreat the help of the nearby druids. "Now," said Eldon, "we have established that Dawngreeter Theore has not fallen, or worse, in his house, and that he appears to have left his house, and locked it after himself, of his own accord. I am going to pray. Anybody who wishes can come with me. Those who do not wish to pray... I am sure Theore would appreciate knowing that he is in your thoughts."

With nothing else to do, Esme decided to follow Eldon to prayer. Afterwards, she would speak to him, and find out why he had lied about Theore's whereabouts, and what exactly he was planning to do next.

o - o - o - o - o

During the sermons, Esme picked up on Eldon's tension and worry more than once. Though informative, his words lacked his usual zeal. Instead of punctuating his sermon with silences, to allow a particular phrase or idea to be absorbed by the parishioners before moving on, he rushed through the material as if reciting it by rote. And Esme was not the only one to pick up on the change. She saw people glancing around in confusion, looking at the faces of others, seeking affirmation of their own suspicious that something was not quite right.

After the sermon, he could not get out of bidding the parishioners farewell, but where before he would enquire about their health, about how their families were keeping during the cold winter months, he now rushed them along, merely thanking them for coming and expressing his wish to see them again soon. In the past he had made an effort to get to know them and exchange pleasantries with them, but now he saw them as an obstacle to his goal of finding Theore, and Esme could see the damage it was doing, all of his hard work unravelling as he concentrated on one thing and let his focus on the people of the village waver.

When Eldon instructed Tiny to clear the prayer hall following the sermon and remain in the church in case anybody came for advice, the boy's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"But what do I do if somebody needs advice that I can't give them?" he asked.

"Make a note of who it is and I'll go and visit them personally later," Eldon told him. "I have to go and look for Theore."

"I hope the Dawngreeter is alright," said Tiny worriedly. "Where do you think he's gone?"

"I don't know. But I'll find him, I promise."

Esme did not like the tone in Eldon's voice when he made the promise of finding Theore. It sounded grim. Menacing. Final. But she knew that was only because she knew the truth of Theore's betrayal. To Tiny, the promise was reassuring. And when Eldon stepped out of the church and began striding towards the palisade gates, she kept pace with him, wanting to question him but sensing his mind was busy with thoughts and plans, and that he did not want disturbing yet.

When Eldon reached the gate, he stopped in front of one of the two militia who were guarding it. "Who was on duty here last night?" he asked.

"Smyth and Danners."

"Find them and ask them to come here."

"But Dawnlord, they'll be asleep by now!"

"Then wake them. This is important. It's about Dawngreeter Theore."

Esme watched as the man jumped to obey. Eldon might be relatively new to Triel, but she realised that he commanded a lot of respect. Technically he had no right to command the militia, who reported directly to the village leaders - whoever _they_ were - but he had instructed this man who had obeyed without question, just as the militia who had come to 'arrest' her on his instruction had done. Lucas would probably say that Eldon was a natural leader, that his intelligence and charismatic personality made people _want_ to obey him. Even now he looked calm and confident. It was only because she knew him intimately that she could spot the signs of stress; he stood tall but his shoulders were tense, and his jaw tightly clenched. She wished she could take him away from here, to help him relieve some of his tension, but this was no time for flights of romantic and sexual fancy.

When Smyth and Danners turned up, they looked tired and worried, as if they had been caught doing something terribly wrong. Were they amongst the five who had conspired with Theore to perform a High Hunt in worship of Malar, or were they simply feeling guilty over having let Theore out?

"We came right away, Dawnlord," one of the men said. Esme had no idea who was who. "Jacob said you had questions about Theore?"

"Did he leave Triel last night?" Eldon asked.

"Err... yes, he did."

"And you didn't think to let me know?" his voice was soft, quiet. Dangerously so. Esme prayed for the militia to tread carefully with their answers.

"He said that you already knew, that you had sent him out on some holy mission, that it was urgent and secret. He said we wasn't to tell anybody," said the other man.

"Do you believe that I would send an eighty year old man out into a monster-infested wilderness in the middle of the night? In mid-winter, with snow on the way?"

"Theore has never lied to us before. He didn't give us any reason to believe that he was lying now."

"Did anybody go with him?"

"No, he was alone," the first man said. "But he was well equipped for winter. He was wearing thick furs and his best walking boots, and carried a tent on his back."

"What time did he leave?"

"Just before the snows started to fall. It was amazing, really. There we was, sitting here with our hot tea, saying how the air smelt of snow, and out pops Theore with all his gear, saying he was going on a holy mission. A few minutes after he left, it started snowing."

"Amazing," said Eldon, though his voice was flat. "What time was this? I don't know when it started to snow last night." No, he had been far too busy making love to her to pay attention to what the weather was doing.

"Before midnight. More than that I can't say. The hours just seem to blend into one, on a night shift."

"And has anybody else left since Theore did?"

"Not that I know of."

"Nathaniel and that elf he's sweet on left just after we took over," said one of the morning guards. "Looked like they were heading off for a stroll in the forest. Neither of them was carrying anything for a long journey."

"Thank you," said Eldon. "Smyth, Danners, you can return to your beds. I'm sorry for waking you. I wouldn't have done so if I hadn't thought it important. As for you two... I have a favour to ask of you."

"Of course, Dawnlord," said the man the others had referred to as 'Jacob'.

"I will be leaving, soon, to look for Theore. The wilderness is no place for an old man. When I'm gone, I want you to lock the gates down. If any of the people who have left come back, let them in, but don't let anybody else out. The last thing we need is half the village wandering around out there and getting lost, and some folks, when they hear of Theore's disappearance, might want to help search for him. But we need to preserve his trail as much as possible. We can't be having people wandering around and disturbing the snow, or we might lose all track of him."

"Yes, Dawnlord, it will be as you say. We'll let people enter, but not leave."

"Thank you. Now, I'll be back shortly, once I have some supplies."

He walked away from the gate without waiting for as much as a nod, back towards the direction of the church. Esme was forced to jog to keep up with him, and when they reached the door of the Whispering Wind, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"What do you think you are doing?" she asked, more anger in her voice than she wanted to show.

"I'm going to find Theore," he said calmly, as if it was obvious. Which it was, but that wasn't what she had meant.

"When did you give up becoming a priest and start being a ranger? In case you hadn't noticed, it's snowed since Theore left. That means he won't have left a trail. How are you going to track him with no trail?"

He opened the door of the in, nudged her inside, and closed the door behind them. "I don't know, but I have to try. Theore is my responsibility. Something must have spooked him. Perhaps our meeting last night didn't go as unnoticed as we had hoped. Or maybe Shayla and Nathaniel discussed it on their way to the church of Silvanus and he heard them."

"Or maybe Malar sent him a message, telling him he had been discovered and advising him to flee. And then sent the snow to cover his tracks."

"Now you're just guessing, Esmerelle."

"And so are you!"

"Yes, but I can't just leave him out there. If I'd acted sooner, arrested him last night instead of waiting for the druids or the knights from Scornubel... if he hurts somebody, it will be my fault. I can't just sit here and do nothing. I did that once before, and it cost me the most important person in my life." He ran the back of his hand down her cheek, and for a moment the fire in his eyes disappeared, replaced with a look of such tenderness that it almost broke her heart. Then the fire returned, and with it the anger. "I'd rather make a mistake through a wrong action taken, than no action at all."

"Then I'm going with you. I've spent a lot of time in forests. I may not be an expert tracker, like Daeghun, but I may be of some use."

"No, Esmerelle, I need you here. I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

"I want you to stay at the church and advise Tiny. He's intelligent but inexperienced in the ways of the world. He can advise any petitioners on matters of a spiritual nature, but not of a personal nature. You will have to be discrete; the villagers will not accept advice easily from an outlander. But I can't leave the church without a guardian."

"If it will help, I will stay," she relented. "On one condition. You return to the village before dark whether you have found Theore or not."

"I will."

"Promise me you will."

"I promise."

"Don't say it like that. Say it like you mean it."

He took her hands in his, and looked into her eyes. "Esmerelle, I give you my word that I will be back within the confines of Triel's walls before the sun has fully sunk below the horizon." Then he kissed her, and she knew that he meant his words. "I have to go," he said, breaking the kiss but letting his hands linger on hers. "Theore has nearly half a day's head start on me. Lathander only knows how far he can travel in twelve hours."

She nodded, and let him go, watching the door of the inn close behind him. It was out of her hands, now. She could do no more, and whatever would happen, would happen. All she knew was that night could not come fast enough.

* * *

A/N: Hey there. This has turned out to be rather a long story arc, hasn't it? Bear with me, it's almost done. I hope you're all enjoying it so far, though. I figure Esme needs a bit of happiness in her life, since we all know how it has to end for her. If you've glanced my homepage/blog recently you'll know that I mentioned getting this finished for Christmas, and the second chapter of Kail's Story sequel up for around Xmas day (and yes, chapter #2 will have a little more meat in it, we'll be catching up with most of our favourite characters and what befell them after the whole ruin collapse incident). Just to let you know that I'm still on track with it all, and barring a major catastrophe, you should be seeing the conclusion of Life Is a Circle before the end of this month. Hope you've enjoyed the ride so far!

P.S., If you're really _desperate_ for more of my writing, please pray to Lathander (or Malar, if you prefer) for some really terrible snow. If it gets bad enough they'll close my work, allowing me to dedicate more time to my twisted ramblings.


	33. The dark of night

Chapter 33.

The dark of night

"_Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires."_ - Shakespeare

o - o - o - o - o

As she had promised, Esme spent the day in the church with Tiny. Only three petitioners appeared, two women with questions about what life was like after death - though they seemed to be less interested in the answer once they realised Eldon was not around to respond in person - and one man who wanted to know whether the Morninglord would be bringing an early start to the spring this year. Tiny was able to advise the women, telling them that to the faithful, Lathander offered eternal rest within his golden realm, where the sun never set and there was nothing to fear. And that yes, Eldon would be back later, and could speak to them personally about their fears, if they wished. To the man, he said that not even the highest priest could predict the weather; it depended upon the whims of the gods, not just Lathander but many others.

"Do petitioners often seek out advice from the church of Lathander?" Esme asked once the third worshipper had gone.

"When they know that Dawnlord Eldon is present and taking guests, yes," said Tiny. "They keep him busy from the moment that morning sermon ends, until the sun begins to sink in the sky. But... erm... he is nothing but professional with them, giving them answers and reassuring them without... ahh... being overly familiar with them."

"Thank you, Tiny," she smiled, "but you have no need to protect me from the truth. I have seen before the Dawnlord's effect on people. On women. I know that he is dedicated to the Morninglord, and would not abuse his position as head of the church here."

"I.. err... didn't mean to interrupt you this morning." A guilty blush suffused the boy's cheeks. "I didn't know where else the Dawnlord might be."

"Does he normally sleep in his room in the church?"

"I've never known him to sleep anywhere else. When I got there this morning and found the whole place dark for the first time in my memory, I panicked. All sorts of things started running through my mind. I thought maybe something bad had happened to Dawngreeter Theore and Dawnlord Eldon. Maybe they'd had an accident, or been attacked by bugbears, or bandits. Then I realised that if they'd been attacked, other people would have noticed, and nobody else seemed to worried, apart from when they turned up for sermon and couldn't get inside. Dawngreeter Theore says I have an overactive imagination, and that I should try to curb my natural exuberance."

"Personally, I don't think you should try to change to become more like other people, even if they are your superiors within the church. If you are true to Lathander, he will love you no matter how active your imagination, or how exuberant you are. It is better to be happy and warm and outgoing, than to be boring and unimaginative and be unhappy with who you are. Isn't it?"

"I guess so," he admitted. "I never really thought about what I should be like. I just thought I should try to be more like Dawngreeter Theore. Or more like Dawnlord Eldon. But it's hard, because they're really different."

"Different in what ways?" She took a seat on the first bench, managing to keep back the guilty blush when she caught sight of the golden altar, and a moment later he joined her.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "I don't really like talking about people behind their backs..."

"It's not talking about people behind their backs," she reassured him. "It's comparing the different teaching methods of two priests. One acolyte to another," she added with a wink.

"Heh, when you put it like that," he grinned. "You're right. It's good to talk about differences. I never had anybody to talk to about this stuff, until now. I suppose when I think about it, Theo... I mean, Dawngreeter Theore believes in books. He says you can learn a lot from books, and that to become closer to Lathander, I need to read holy texts and pray, to learn to become more settled so that people will take me seriously when I become a priest. Dawnlord Eldon on the other hand, says that you can only learn so much from books, and that you have to get out of the church and learn about things through experience. He says I shouldn't be afraid to get my hands dirty, that there's more to being a priest than praying and healing people. He said I'll be called on to do a lot of different things, from planting trees to fighting in battles to delivering babies. I guess when it comes right down to it, when they're delivering sermons, Theore talks _at_ people. Eldon talks _to_ them. Maybe that's why there's a lot more people in church these days compared to a few years ago."

"Perhaps," she agreed. Such astute observations from such a young boy surprised her. When she was his age, although training to eventually become a priest, she was very much still a child. She had giggled about things with Ali, talked about boys, bent rules when she thought she could get away with it, though never been disrespectful. Tiny had grown up in a joyless village and lost his parents when he was still a child. He'd had to grow up fast and learn quickly. Even though his voice had not yet broken, he was more man than boy. "Do you have many friends here in the village?" she asked out of curiosity.

"I did when I was younger. I think when my parents died, they didn't know how to talk to me anymore. I think they were worried about saying something and hurting my feelings, and I heard a few people say that maybe I was a bad-luck child, to have lost both my parents. I think some of them kept their children away from me. When the Dawngreeter started to keep an eye on me, people became even more suspicious."

"Why did they become suspicious?"

"We don't have priests, here."

"Of course you do. You've got Eldon, and Theore, and Nathaniel."

"They're not from Triel. There's always been one church here, this one we're in now, but nobody knows who it was first dedicated to. About a hundred years ago, a priest of Lathander came and he made it new. He put in these windows and brought the altar and the statue and these benches. Then Nathaniel came, and he built the church of Silvanus, and for a while we had two churches. Then, when the old priest of Lathander died, a new one came. Then he died, and another came. Sometimes it would be days between them, sometimes years. Then thirty years ago, Theore came, and he was the only priest of Lathander we had until Eldon was sent too. But all these priests come from other places. We don't have priests from Triel."

"Well, in a few years you will," she smiled. "On your eighteenth birthday you will be officially ordained and welcomed into the priesthood of Lathander. How does that make you feel?"

"I don't know. Part of me is excited about it. Part of me worries about it. What if I'm not good enough? What if I do something wrong? What if I make mistakes?"

"Do you know what we call people who make mistakes?"

"No, what?"

"Mortal. Making mistakes is natural. We all do it. I've made many mistakes in my life. Eldon has made mistakes. Theore has made mistakes. It's good to make mistakes, because that's how you learn quickly. It's when you make the same mistakes repeatedly that you need to be worried."

"Maybe you're right," he said with a smile. She sensed that his fears had been lessened some. "It's past lunch time now. Would you like me to run to the bakery and fetch us some food?"

"That would be lovely, Tiny."

She watched the boy go and glanced out of the window. The sun was past its highest point in the sky, now. How long had Eldon been gone? An hour? Two? It felt more like ten, but she knew she was being foolish. Eldon would be fine. He could take care of himself. He had been trained in battle since before she was born. But reassuring herself did not drive away the fear in her stomach.

o - o - o - o - o

In mid-afternoon, the door of the church opened a fourth time. To Esme's surprise it was not another petitioner who entered the hall, looking for advice or looking to see if Eldon was around, but Eldon himself. His skin was pale with cold, and his lips had a blue tinge to them, and her first instinct was to usher him into his office and sit him in front of the fire. She managed to stop herself, though; he was still the Dawnlord of the church, and his responsibilities did not go away simply because he was cold. Besides, Tiny approached him too, with a child-like expression of hope in his eyes.

"We weren't expecting you back so soon," said Esme.

"I lost track of him shortly after his trail entered the forest," Eldon said, and she could hear the defeat in his voice. "You were right, Esmerelle, I am no tracker. I tried wandering around for a little, in case I stumbled upon his trail by chance... but no luck."

"We can't just stop looking," said Tiny. His voice quavered; Esme could tell that he wanted to cry, and he did well to hold back his tears. She understood how he felt; though Tiny still lived in the house of his parents, he often spent the majority of his days and evenings with Theore, who had taken care of him after his parents were killed. The man was almost a surrogate father, or at least grandfather, to the boy, and he wasn't to know that Theore had turned to worshipping Malar. "He'll be cold, and all alone, and-"

"Tiny," said Eldon. He put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "We're not going to leave him out there. As soon as Nathaniel gets back, we'll ask him to look for Theore. In fact, with Nathaniel out in the forests at the moment, maybe he's already found Theore and taken him somewhere safe and warm. In which case, risking more people to look for him would be pointless."

"I suppose so."

"Good. Do you still have my key?"

"Of course." Tiny reached into his pocket and brought out the shining golden metal key.

"With Theore away, I'm going to need your help more than ever. When the sun sets, I'd like you to lock up the church and then go home. Tomorrow, open the church as you did today and get the room ready for sermon. Soon I'll need to teach you how to lead people in prayer, so that you can help me more with that, too. For now, I'll be in my office until tomorrow if you need me."

"You can count on me, Dawnlord. I won't let you down."

"I know."

Esme followed silently as Eldon made his way to his office. It was a sign of how cold he was, or perhaps how unhappy he was, that he didn't ask how her afternoon had gone, or enquire if there had been many visitors whilst he was away. All he did was sink down onto the sofa in front of the fire, which Esme had lit an hour earlier so the room would be warm for his return. When he made no move to remove his damp coat and boots, she did it for him, picking at the knots of his laces which were cold and wet; the leather had been thoroughly soaked and was stiff when she pulled at it. She removed his gloves, which were also cold and damp, and then worked on the stiff buttons of his coat.

"Lean forward so that I can take your coat off?" she coaxed gently.

"I went back to Theore's house." His voice was quiet, and his eyes went past her, to stare into the fire. "I thought maybe I'd missed something. Perhaps a letter explaining his absence, or some other clue. I found this." From his pocket he took a large gold key, identical to the one he had just given Tiny.

"What does it mean?"

"All yesterday, I kept thinking maybe I was wrong about Theore. Maybe he had reasons that we didn't understand. Maybe he was just pretending to worship Malar, to root out those within the village who might be inclined to kill for the beast-lord. Maybe he was setting a trap, or perhaps doing some work of Lathander to which I was not privy. But now I know. He's not coming back. This is his way of saying that the Morninglord no longer holds any sway with him."

"Please let me take your coat off," she said, trying to force him to make eye contact. "It's cold, and making the furniture wet." But it was as if he didn't hear her.

"How many people did he poison with his ideas and his plans for violence and murder whilst he was here? When he gave sermons, did he use it as an excuse to single folks out, to target them?"

"There's no use tearing yourself up over how and why. You'll learn the details in time, when the knights arrive to arrest the men who met with Theore."

"But now that Theore's gone, the men won't meet again. I won't find out who the other three are, or the five they've 'talked' to. The best we could do is two men; two men who I recognise only by voice, whose faces I did not even see. It won't be enough, Esmerelle. All of our careful planning has been for nothing. Theore will get away from us, and these men will get away with planning murder."

"I don't believe that. I believe that Lathander will make things right. You have to have faith."

"The Morninglord does not answer every individual prayer, Esmerelle. Most of the time, we have to take charge of our own destinies."

"The Morninglord answered your prayers once before, didn't he?" she demanded. "He helped us to find each other again, didn't he?"

"I suppose he did," Eldon relented. "And if I only get one miracle in my life, I'm glad it was that."

"So am I. Now, will you _please_ take your coat off?" With a guilty smile, he complied, and she spread his coat out over a chair so it would dry. "Now, why don't I make you a hot cup of tea, to help you warm up?"

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said quietly.

"Do what?"

"Mother me. I'm perfectly capable of taking off my own wet clothes, and making myself a cup of tea. I've looked after myself for a long time, just as I looked after you."

"I know I don't have to, but I've never had anybody to care for, and do little things for. Other than Aggie, when she got too old to take care of herself."

"I don't want tea. I just want your company. Tea can only warm my body, but you... you warm my heart and my soul."

"Okay," she smiled. "Just give me a moment." She went into the back room and took the woollen blanket from the bed, and carried it back to the office. There, she draped it around her shoulders and climbed onto Eldon's lap, wrapping the blanket around him, cocooning them both within its woollen embrace. Only then did he appear to notice how cold he was; he started to shiver, his teeth chattering. She let herself relax into him, tucking her head below his chin to heat his skin with her breath. When he lifted her shirt to rest his freezing hands on her bare back, she gasped with the shock of the cold, and felt her whole body tense up.

"Sorry," he said, though there wasn't even a hint of regret in his voice. "I couldn't resist."

"Well, at least you're getting warmer."

"I'm sure I can find some way of making up for making you cold," he said, and kissed her. His lip were warmer than his hands, and it wasn't long before they were as warm as hers. And, before too long, Esme was beginning to regret the woollen blanket. "You know, I think the rest of my clothes got damp in the snow, too. Maybe I should take them off."

"It's not even dark outside yet," she protested with a smile.

"There's no law that says I can't undress before nightfall."

"What if Tiny comes in?"

"He won't."

"What if the neighbours see in through the window?"

"I'm sure they won't see anything they haven't seen before."

"What if-"

"Shh," he said, silencing her with a finger on her lips. "Everything will be okay."

"I believe you," she smiled.

o - o - o - o - o

The following morning, Esme sat in the prayer hall and listened to Eldon give the daily sermon. He kept it short, and, sensing that the people in the congregation needed a little good news and hope following the disappearance of Theore, he spoke of the coming spring, of how the first melting of the snow would herald the return of Lathander's power, and the return of the warmer spring season. After the sermon, a few of the men hung back, to speak to Eldon about forming search parties to look for Theore. When Eldon became adamant that no search parties go out, one of the men questioned what right he had to deny them the right to search for a missing man. Eldon got around that by telling him that if Theore had indeed been called by Lathander for some purpose, he might not want to be disturbed. It might even be dangerous for anyone other than Theore himself to be wherever he was.

The men, finally mollified, left with their reluctant wives in tow, but it wasn't long before the first of the petitioners started to trickle back in to the church. One woman was hoping to provide a child for her husband the following year, and wanted Lathander - and by extension, Eldon - to bless her, to increase her chances of conceiving a child. Another woman was worried that her husband no longer found her attractive, and that he was looking at other women behind her back, and could the Dawnlord possibly give her some advice about what sort of things a man might find attractive? An older village woman confided in him that she feared her beloved only daughter would never find a husband worthy of her beauty and intelligence. Oh, and would the Dawnlord like to come for dinner one night next week, in return for performing such a moving marriage ceremony for her son last summer?

Esme found herself surprised, yet again, by the fact that Eldon was completely oblivious to the petitioners' real intent. She knew from experience that he was hardly some shy, retiring man, innocent and inexperienced, but he seemed unable to understand or even see that so many women found him attractive. It made her realise how lucky she was, that she did not have to pretend to be subtle and coy and hide behind false pretenses. She could say exactly what she meant to Eldon, and he understood her. He saw that she loved him and wanted him, and he was blind to all else.

It didn't take long for her to grow bored of sitting in the prayer hall with Tiny listening to the women in the village come to Eldon with their 'problems'. After a while she excused herself, and decided to take a walk around the village. She smiled at people as she passed them, hoping to receive a response in kind, but most folk watched silently as she passed, their expressions guarded. From their body language, she deduced that people didn't want her there, and they _certainly_ didn't want to talk to her. It was the most unusual, and confusing, behaviour she had ever witnessed. It wasn't as if she was doing any harm just by being there. In every town or village she had ever passed through, the locals almost unanimously welcomed guests, particularly adventurers. Visitors brought news from other places; some who were trusted acted as messengers, delivering letters or packages. They told stories and brought entertainment, and more importantly, they were a source of income for local traders. To an innkeeper, guests meant continued business. But Triel's innkeeper had behaved as if having guests was a huge inconvenience.

There was nothing to do in the town. Nowhere for guests to be entertained, nowhere to go and relax, and nowhere to do shopping. Bored, and not wanting to spend the whole day alone in the inn, she returned to the church and let herself in the back door, into Eldon's private rooms. But again, there was nothing for her to do here. Everything was clean. It wasn't lunch time yet, so there was no food to be made. The only thing she _could_ do was wait alone for hours, for Eldon to finish with his responsibilities. The thought of spending even one more day with nothing to do, merely waiting around for Eldon, filled her with dread. Yes, she loved having something to look forward to, she loved being with him, but the hours when he was busy and she was not dragged on until each minute seemed to last an eternity. She couldn't even make herself useful by brewing up some potions, because with Nathaniel away and the church of Silvanus locked up, she had no access to herbs.

Just when she thought she might go stir-crazy, she caught sight of a spade behind the back door. Smiling to herself, she took it and wrapped herself up warm before stepping outside. The vegetable garden, bare and devoid of vegetable life, could not be ignored because of the cold weather. The soil needed tilling and aerating, large stones needed removing and old weed roots needed pulling up. Though the work was not mentally stimulating, it was at least physically challenging, and after several hours her hands were blistered and her back was aching. Lucas had told her that pain was what let you know that you were alive, and though she thought that his words were a little bit fatalistic, she definitely felt better after a day of hard labour in the cold. Now she could truly appreciate the warmth of a well-tended house, and the hot food she would cook for dinner.

She turned to the door and found Eldon leaning against the doorway, watching her. Though he was wearing his boots he wore no coat, so she knew he hadn't come out to help her.

"How long have you been watching?" she asked casually.

"Just a few minutes. What possessed you to come and work outside in such cold weather?"

"I wanted to be useful," she shrugged.

"I guess tonight, I get to warm you up," he smiled. Stepping forward, he leant down and kissed her, his lips warm against hers, and it surprised her again how quickly her body responded. Then she realised they were in full sight of anybody walking down the street or looking out of their windows, and she pulled away.

"People might see," she said.

"Are you ashamed to be seen kissing an old man?" he teased.

"You're hardly old. I just don't want you to be the subject of rumours and gossip. You _are_ a priest, after all."

"Even priests have feelings, and needs, and desires," he whispered. His breath was deliciously warm against her neck, yet made goosebumps appear on her skin. She noted the contradiction but was far too busy telling her impatient body to be quiet to consider it further. "If you're finished out here for today and would like to come inside, I'll show you exactly what I mean."

"How could I turn down an offer like that?" she smiled.

Once inside, Eldon helped her out of her coat and her boots, then took her into his arms and carried her into his office, placing her gently on the sofa in front of the warm fire and covering her with a blanket. "Don't go anywhere," he said. "I'm going to get us something to drink."

When he disappeared into the kitchen, she rearranged herself on the sofa to make room for him too, then unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt. Now she understood the purpose of some of the dresses Kiree had tried to coax her into buying. Pretty and flattering clothes were not just to make the wearer feel good, but also to appeal to the observer. And she realised that she _wanted_ to wear nice clothes for Eldon. She _wanted_ his pulse to race whenever he looked at her wearing a nice dress. But it was unlikely that she would find another nice dress here in Triel.

Eldon returned with two glasses of wine, gave one to her and sat beside her on the sofa. "You look like you have a lot on your mind," he observed. "Anything you'd like to talk about?"

"I was just thinking about buying some new dresses," she admitted. "Where do the townsfolk buy their new clothes from?"

"Mostly from travelling merchants. I'm told that many years ago, there was a tailor who lived in Triel, but he died or left. I'm not sure which. Now, the villagers need to buy their clothes from merchants or travel to Scornubel. But for some reason, they don't like leaving the village. The majority of the people in Triel have never been further away than the edge of the woods. Even going further away than their orchards makes some of them nervous."

"Why is that?"

"I think it's because they've lived so long in a hostile environment. They see Triel's walls as protective, and are loathe to leave their protection."

"This place is like a cage," she said. It felt good to give voice to the unrealised feelings she had been experiencing since she had arrived in the village. "It's like bars closing in around you, and a weight pushing down on you. I've never seen people less free than these folk. Even Kalan'Tel, in his cage, was at least free inside his head, but the people here are trapped inside their own minds."

"Which makes it all the more important for me to bring the light of Lathander to this place. I believe that's why I was sent here. Not by my superiors, but by the Morninglord himself. I think he saw these peoples' need, and arranged for my arrival."

"And my presence here?" she asked, part of her wanting an answer, and part of her not.

"I believe you were sent to help me. If you had not come to me now, if you had not been with me in the church on the night of Theore's meeting, I would never have known of his treachery. I think you were sent not only to help me uncover his deception, but help to bring the light of Lathander to this place."

She took a long sip of her wine to hide her unease. He had talked before about wanting her to stay, to be with him, but she had assumed that he simply meant to be with him in an intimate sense, as his lover or his wife. To be with him in other ways, to help him to bring these villagers around to Lathander's worship... that would be to take up his cause, and she knew without even having to consider it that it was not a task she could put her heart and soul into. There was, technically, nothing wrong with these people. They were not sick, they were not injured, and they were not impoverished. They were lazy, stubborn, paranoid and even a little xenophobic. She could spend twenty years trying to make the people of Triel see common sense, trying to coax and cajole them into trying new things. And in the mean time, how many other people, how many truly _needy_ people, who had no money, no food, no families, no way of protecting themselves, would she miss helping? She had healed the sick and seen pure, genuine gratitude in their eyes. She had freed an innocent man from a cage and given him the freedom to change his whole life for the better. She had helped at least one wild elf to overcome his prejudice of humans. All of those things had been worthwhile acts that would have deep, lasting effects on the people she had encountered. Staying here would mean giving up all of the potential people she might yet help. And the thought of staying in Triel for another week was made bearable only by the fact that Eldon was also here. He seemed so sure of his mission here, that he had been sent by Lathander to help these people, as had she. But she was not so sure. It just felt... wrong.

"What would you like me to cook for dinner tonight?" she asked, as a way to avoid commenting on his words.

"Don't worry about it. I'll cook. You've done more than enough for today. I just want you to relax and warm yourself up."

"I'd rather _you_ warmed myself up," she grinned slyly.

"Hmm. That does sound far more enjoyable, doesn't it?" He pulled her into his arms and brushed her hair back behind her ears with his fingers, tracing the contours of her face with his fingertips. His touch made her skin tingle, and she wished that they were in his roomy bed, instead of confined to the smaller, less comfortable, sofa.

There was an urgent knocking on the office door, and Esmerelle sighed. Suddenly, having somewhere personal and private to be with Eldon did not sound like such a bad idea. Even the smallest of houses would have been preferable to the constant interruption within the church. Eldon climbed off the sofa and went to answer the door, opening it to an agitated Tiny.

"Dawnlord, there are men outside on horses! They say they're clerics of Lathander. And Esmerelle's friends are with them!"

"They got here faster than I had thought," Eldon said, frowning. "Tiny, run along and tell them I'll be out in just a moment." When the boy disappeared, Eldon grabbed his coat and pulled his boots onto his feet, lacing them hurriedly. "It would be safer if you stayed here," he said, not looking at her. "I don't know if there's anybody out there who might recognise you."

"I'll take that risk." She joined him in donning her outer clothes, then waited for him to lead the way. But instead, he turned to her, cupping her face gently in his warm hands and looking into her eyes

"Esmerelle," he said, "no matter what happens tonight, I want you to know that I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anybody before, and ever will love anybody again. Nothing will ever change that."

"What's going to happen tonight?" she asked as tendrils of fear curled around her heart. He had told her, before, that he loved her, but not with such grim finality. It made her want to shut the door and lock herself in the office with Eldon inside, and never let him leave. Not even when she had learnt the truth about her heritage, and had the threat of death hanging over her head, had she felt such dread.

Instead of answering, he pulled her towards him into a firm embrace. She closed her eyes and let herself be in the moment, let the smell of the soap he used fill her nose, let the prickly short stubble on his chin tickle her forehead, let his arms encircle her as if he could give her the whole world simply by holding her, let the movement of his rising and falling chest calm her, and the soft inhale and exhale of his breath be the only sound she could hear.

"I have to go," he whispered, ending the moment. He let go and brushed past her, and she had no choice but to follow him. They walked through the comfortingly familiar church, past the altar and the alcove where they had hidden, past the rows of benches and the stack of prayer books which stood to one side of the door. As Eldon opened the outer door, she followed him closely, not exactly hiding behind him, but allowing him to be the one the clerics would focus on.

Outside, she saw five mounted men wearing the colours of Lathander's church, and one more standing beside his horse, holding the animal's reins. Two of the men - the one on the ground and another mounted - were knights, wearing heavy metal plate armour beneath their red and yellow cloaks. The other four men were clerics, clad in leather or chain armour, their weapons lighter than those of the knights. Seeing them forced her mind to recall a hazy memory, dimmed by the passage of time, of another moment when she had been faced with armoured men on horseback; she had been only a child at the time, rescued from the temple of Bhaal by the man she loved with all of her heart. Eldon would never let anything happen to her. Even if these men _did_ recognise her as a runaway acolyte and a child of Bhaal, Eldon would not let them take her.

Her fears were further allayed when she spotted six familiar faces just beyond the ring of horses. She smiled widely at her friends, surprising herself by how pleased she was to see them. Just being near them made her feel as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she felt less alone than she had since she'd first arrived in Triel. Kiree waved back frantically, a wide grin splitting her small face, and though Duncan, Lucas and Belvar waved back a little more sedately, Esme got the impression that things weren't quite right with her friends. Shayla and Daeghun stood apart, neither looking at the other, whilst the three men did not look entirely comfortable standing between them.

It was inevitable that a large crowd of newcomers, half of them mounted, would draw attention, and sure enough, villagers began to appear from nearby houses, until a small semi-circle of them were gathered around the group outside the church. Esme spotted Tiny, fidgeting off to one side of the knights, clearly torn between wanting to stand beside Eldon and wanting to stand with the villagers. In the crowd itself, she recognised the innkeeper of the Whispering Wind, and two of the guards who had taken her 'prisoner' during her first day in the village.

"Dawnlord Eldon?" asked the knight on the ground. He approached and saluted Eldon, one fist raised to his chest. "I am Sir Ferdinand. Dawnmaster Marcin sent us to provide aid. We understand from your letter that you have something of a Malarite problem, here in Triel?"

At his words, a hushed whisper passed through the crowd, rippling from villager to villager like a wave. Eldon quickly glanced at the crowd, and then stepped closer to the knight, lowering his voice.

"I'm afraid the situation has changed since I sent that letter."

"In what way?" Ferdinand seemed unconcerned. In fact, none of the knights or clerics appeared overly apprehensive about the possibility of conflict.

"The former priest of Lathander, Theore, fled Triel the night before last. I tried to track him, but had no luck."

"That is... a pity. The capture of the betrayer, as well as a group of dangerous Malarites, would have been a great achievement. I suppose we'll just have to settle for the Malarites, then."

"Dawnlord?" One of the villagers took a tiny, tentative step forward, angling his body away from the knights in an attempt to address Eldon alone. "What's all this about, Dawnlord? Why are these men here? And why do they think there are Malarites in the village? We do the ritual, everyone knows we do, but we don't hurt nobody. We don't hunt people, and they turn a blind eye to our Hunt."

"We are not interested in you villagers," said Sir Ferdinand. He turned to address the crowd before Eldon could protest. "It is our Dawnmaster's belief that the most dangerous individuals in this region are the Malarite priests, and as such we have been tasked with capturing and taking them back to Scornubel, or killing them if they prove impossible to capture."

"That is not the aid that I asked for!" Eldon shouted. Esme could tell that he was angry, not only by the harsh tone of his voice, but by the crease in his brows as he frowned at Ferdinand, and how his jaw clenched tightly when he wasn't speaking. "I wished for you to come here and aid me with arresting Theore and his followers. Theore is the one we need to be concerned about, not the Malarite priests. They are being taken of by others."

"Yes," said Ferdinand, glancing at Shayla, "druids are going to apprehend them, I believe? It is Dawnmaster Marcin's will that _we_ be the ones to capture or kill the Malarites, and bring back proof of our success. I'm sure the druids may be able to render some assistance, but ultimately, the task is ours."

"Why do you want to arrest Theore?" Tiny asked. He stood in front of the knight with his hands planted firmly on his hips. It was almost comical; though Tiny was big for his age, he was dwarfed by the knight, who was comparable to Eldon in size. But Tiny looked even angrier than Eldon, and Esme knew why; he was afraid. Things were happening and he had no knowledge of them, but they involved somebody who was the closest thing he had to family. Anger was a dangerous thing, but coupled with fear, it was even moreso. Before the tense situation could explode, Esme stepped forward, and placed a hand on Tiny's shoulder.

"Theore was not who he pretended to be," she said quietly. Her voice, soft and gentle in contrast to those who had spoken before her in angry shouts, barely carried at all, and she both saw and felt everybody present take a step or two towards her, to hear what she was saying. "Eldon and I overheard him plotting to conspire with a group of nearby Malarite priests. He was planning to capture somebody, a humanoid man, and hold a hunt in the forest to appease Malar."

She expected denial to set in. She expected him not to believe her, to say that it couldn't be true, that he had known Theore all his life and the man who was almost like family to him couldn't possibly be a false priest. But instead he turned to Eldon, looking even angrier before.

"You knew!" he screamed, pointing in accusation at the older man. "All this time you were pretending to be worried about Theore being missing, and you knew! You knew, and you didn't tell me!"

"Tiny-" Eldon began

"No! You're a liar! First you spy on Theore, then you plot behind his back to bring strangers here to arrest him? Then you lie to me, and everybody else here, about being worried for Theore! I bet you were lying about Theore having visions, too, weren't you? Well? Was that part true?"

"No. It wasn't true."

Esme could sense Eldon's shame. The accusation in Tiny's voice had cut him like a weapon. It was worse than a weapon, because wounds caused by a weapon could be healed, but no amount of divine magic could undo the hurt Eldon had caused by concealing information from the person who most looked up to him. Tiny didn't wait for any further explanation. He turned and ran with tears in his eyes, barging through the crowd, knocking over people who did not move out of his way fast enough. Mentally, Esme willed Eldon to follow the boy, but he did not. He merely watched him leave with a look of deep regret in his eyes. Around the church, the other villagers were looking hurt, shocked and afraid. This was when they needed their Dawnlord most. This was when they need him to reassure them, to comfort them and lead them. Instead of addressing the people, however, he turned to Ferdinand.

"You and your men will come with me. We will find Theore and we will bring him to justice. We will bring him back here so he can tell these people how he has deceived them. He will be damned by the truth from his own mouth."

"Eldon," said Shayla, stepping forward past the mounted clerics. To Esme's eyes she looked cold and tired, and she wondered if the elf had reveried at all recently. "Hunting down one man, who has left little trail, would be a fool's errand. Theore is old and alone. He is no danger, now that he is away from the villagers. But the Malarites are still out there. These knights have been sent to hunt them. Help them carry out their task."

"No. Theore _is_ dangerous. That you think him a harmless old man only shows how you, too, have been deceived by him. Don't you think that's what he wanted to you see? Don't you think think that's the act he's been putting on for us all these years?" From the corner of her eye, Esme saw Lucas watching Eldon, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Besides, I don't know where the Malarites are, and neither do you."

"I can track Nathaniel," Shayla said confidently. "His trail will lead us to the local druid circle, and they will lead us to the Malarites. They will need our help."

"Shayla, no. I forbid it."

For a brief instant there was silence from the entire congregation, as if every breath was held in suspense. Esme wasn't at all surprised when she realised she actually _had_ been holding her breath, and she let it out quietly as Daeghun stepped forward.

"You _forbid_ it?" By rights, the look Shayla gave Daeghun should have melted him on the spot, but he merely watched her, his green eyes as calm as ever. "You cannot _forbid_ it. I am shaman!"

"And I am your mate," Daeghun replied. "Does that count for nothing?" Shayla looked sickened, and took a step back as if she had been physically struck. But Daeghun was not finished. "I have followed you since we were children. I have given you everything you have asked for, done everything you have asked of me, and never once asked for anything in return. I am asking you now; do not go."

"I have to." Shayla's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I promised Nathaniel that once I had returned with the knights, I would find him and help him. Help him and the druids to track down the Malarites. I can't break my promise, Daeghun."

He looked at her for a long moment, then said something in elvish. Shayla turned away with tears in her eyes, pretending to look over the condition of Ferdinand's horse. In the silence that followed, Esme felt as if she was aware of every tiny sound; the crunch of the snow beneath the feet of the villagers, the snorting of the horses that stood placidly nearby, the gentle sigh of the wind as it whispered around the surrounding houses... for a moment it felt as if the whole world had stopped. Then the silence was broken by a voice.

"Daeghun?" Eldon stepped forward to address the elf. "Esme has told me that you are an expert tracker. Could you track Theore for me?"

"No!" Esme said, brushing past Daeghun to stand in front of Eldon. "Please don't go. Theore is long gone. If he comes back, arrest him, but please don't go looking for him."

"I have to, Esmerelle." He brushed her hair back from her face and ran his warm fingers down her cheek to her chin, lifting it so that she was forced to meet his dark eyes. "I can't give up. Not yet. It's not too late if I leave now. I know you don't understand, but I need to find him. I need to find him and bring him back here. I need answers. I need to know why."

"I understand," she whispered. After all, she too had been haunted more than once by the burning desire for answers. If this was what Eldon needed to do to find peace, how could she ask him not to go? "But please, be careful."

"I promise I will come back." He kissed her briefly, then turned to Daeghun. "So. Will you help me?"

Daeghun had been silent throughout the exchange, his gaze never moving from Eldon. All around, the eyes of everybody present turned to him, including those of Shayla, who had regained her composure. And again there was palpable tension in the air, until Daeghun finally answered.

"I will track the priest for you."

Shayla turned away again, but Belvar took a step forward. "You be careful out there, Daeghun," he said. "Whilst we were on our way here, I could have swore I saw a bugbear shadowing us in the trees. And once or twice I thought I smelt him, too. You know what they're like; where there's one, there's a hundred. They'll think twice before attacking armed and mounted warriors, but you and Eldon might look like an easy meal."

"They will find we are not so easily digested," Daeghun replied, patting his bow.

Eldon disappeared into the church, but Esme did not follow him. She knew he had only gone to get his weapon and his coat, so she made her way to the rest of her friends, and greeted each of them with a hug.

"How are you, Esmerelle?" Lucas asked, holding her at arms length to examine her.

"Lucas, it's only been a few days," she smiled. "I haven't changed."

"Ahh, sometimes change can happen in the blink of an eye."

"You and I are _definitely_ gonna have a talk once this lot have cleared off," Kiree grinned, pointing at the knights with her thumb. "Pretty tense here, huh?"

"I think that's an understatement," she replied. She risked a glance behind her; Ferdinand was mounting up and Shayla was at the head of the group, most definitely _not_ looking at Daeghun, who in turn was taking an unusual interest in the architecture of the church as he waited for Eldon to reappear. Then she turned back to her friends to speak in a whisper. "What happened between those two?"

"That's just it," said Belvar. "They've barely said two words to each other since... well..."

"Since what?" she prompted.

"Since Duncan spotted Shayla going into the temple of Lathander in Scornubel, and told us all she was back."

"Hey, don't try to pin this on me," Duncan protested. "How was I supposed to know she didn't want to see us? Shayla tried to tell us to stay in Scornubel, said that our help wasn't needed. In fact, she was pretty damn adamant that we not return. So, of course, we completely ignored her. She was furious for a while. I think she still is, but she's good at hiding it."

"That was the longest conversation they've had so far," Kiree said, glancing at Daeghun and Shayla in turn. The woman was almost out of sight, now, leading the knights towards the palisade gate.

"And what was the last thing Daeghun said to Shayla, in elvish?" Esme asked, and all eyes turned to Duncan.

"Don't look at me," he shrugged. "I don't speak elvish."

"He said," Lucas said quietly, "'I guess some promises are worth more than others.' Roughly translated, of course."

"I'm ready to go."

Esme turned and saw Eldon walk out of the church. He was dressed in chain armour and wore thick woollen gloves over his hands. A mace was looped through his belt, and around his neck was a holy symbol of Lathander. Briefly, she wondered if it was a normal symbol, or whether it was a magical amulet; such amulets were rare, but possessed powerful enchantments. Then, she stopped caring, and threw herself into his arms, letting him hold her once more. He squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head, then let her go. Daeghun turned, to walk on the same path that the knights had taken only moment ago, and Eldon followed.

o - o - o - o - o

The moon was high in the cloudless sky, bathing the forest in silver light. Around it, Selûne's tears provided their own smaller light source; travelling was easy, this evening, even for a human. And though the forest was new to him, it was familiar, as all forests were. It was connected to the earth, as all forest were, and it spoke with its own unique voice, as all forests did. The trees, flowers and plants, birds, animals and insects, even the sigh of the breeze through bare branches; this was how the forest spoke to those who knew how to listen. And Daeghun had long ago perfected his skills as a listener.

The air was cold, nipping at his skin, chilling his fingers, trying to slow his muscles and his mind, but he did not let it affect him. It was easy enough to ignore the cold, as easy as it was to ignore the heat, for anybody who could focus properly. The trick was merely to not dwell on the discomfort, for once you acknowledged how uncomfortable you were, you fell prey to it. The air that was cold and nipped at your skin suddenly became freezing and biting. The numbness in your fingers could spread up your arm and grip your heart hard enough to cause it to stop beating. That was, if Shayla left enough of it behind for it to keep beating after she was done.

He realised he was lingering over something he did not want to think about, and cast his eyes down to the ground once again. The trail on the ground was still cold; the snowfall had been too heavy, obscuring almost every single track. Now, he used other clues to hunt his quarry; he looked at branches which had been bent as something large and clumsy passed them by. He looked at ferns on the ground which had had the snow knocked off them by a large creature. He looked for the occasional white strand of hair trapped in the finger-like twigs of the trees, which showed that an elderly man had passed in a hurry, not caring when his hair caught and pulled

Behind him, he heard heavy breathing as Eldon hurried to keep up. The priest was not unfit, but he was not used to travelling fast through dense brush and snowy terrain. He was not used to being outside in the bitter cold, nor was he comfortable moving in the moonlight, unsure of his footing without the light of the sun to show him the best way forward. In addition to his discomfort, he was tense, all nervous agitation and righteous anger. He seemed to be taking the betrayal of this priest, this Theore, as a personal insult. Humans were strange creatures, at times. But perhaps it would not be too much to show a little sympathy to the man. A brief rest to allow him to catch his breath and his composure.

"We must stop for a moment," he said, and turned to Eldon. "I need to look around a little. The trail becomes fainter here."

"Alright," Eldon nodded. "But I'd prefer not to stop. Go as slow as you need, but keep moving."

Daeghun did as the man requested without comment. He knew why Eldon didn't want to stop; once you stopped moving, your muscles stopped worked, and to compensate, your mind worked more. You grew cold in the body and hot in the head - never a good combination. Besides, they were only ten minutes into the forest. It would be wise to conserve their energy, in case Theore had managed to get a good distance away from Triel.

"I'm sorry if this hunt has caused problems between you and Shayla," Eldon said.

Daeghun thought about the man's words for a moment as he looked for the next part of the trail. He could see no visible sign of Theore's passing, so he chose the most likely looking direction and changed his course.

"Your hunt has caused no problems," he assured the priest.

"She didn't look too pleased when you agreed to help me track Theore."

"I'm sure she wasn't pleased. Most likely she believes I agreed simply to punish her, to spite her for her own choice of helping the knights from Scornubel."

Eldon stopped, and waited for him to turn. "Why _did_ you agree to help me track Theore?"

Daeghun looked at him. The man was little more than a boy, young, eager, full of questions... and yet at times, he seemed to see things as clearly as the eldest and wisest elf. It was a strange contradiction, and he decided to confront the priest with the truth, to see if he truly did comprehend things which others might not.

"Because Esmerelle loves you, and wants you to be happy. She knows that you cannot be happy until this situation is resolved, therefore by helping you I am helping her."

Eldon looked surprised, but he didn't question the logic. "Did she tell you all of that?"

"No," he replied, and turned back to the non-existent trail, "I saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice."

They walked in silence that was broken by the intermittent call of a hunting owl. How many mice and rabbits and hares, he wondered, were fooled by that call? The call which said that the owl was moving away, out of the area, only for the bird to double-back in silence to pounce from the sky onto its unwary victims. Is that what was happening now? Had Theore set this trail, and then doubled back to contact the Malarites? Was the trap closing on he and Eldon as they made their way deeper into the forest? He shook his head. It was doubtful. This did not smell like a trap, and the forest was quiet. Wherever the Malarites were, they were not close by.

"Do you have any children?" Eldon asked. It was such a random question that for a moment, Daeghun forgot all about Malarites, owls and traps.

"No," he replied. "Though prior to the events of the past few days, Shayla advised me that she felt ready to start a family."

Eldon nodded. "Raising a child is the most difficult and rewarding task in the world. And it will change you forever."

"You no longer consider Esmerelle to be your child." It was more of a statement more than a question, but Eldon nodded anyway.

"I think in some ways, the child that I knew died seven years ago. I came to terms with that. Now I have somebody to love, somebody who is familiar and a stranger, who I know better than anybody else does, but at times I know almost nothing about."

"The wild elves," he said, "believe that childhood is a mask that we wear to grow, to remain hidden and to protect and shield ourselves from the outside world. When a child comes of age, the mask is removed, revealing who is truly underneath."

"Like a butterfly, crawling from the cocoon it made as a caterpillar."

"Yes, that is an accurate analogy." In some ways, a little _too_ accurate. It seemed he had underestimated Eldon's intelligence.

"I've asked her to stay with me. Esmerelle. I think that she might."

"Do you hate her that much?"

"What?" The confusion in Eldon's voice was mirrored in his eyes. Almost black, they reflected the silver light of the moon, showing great concern. Daeghun realised he had probably said the wrong thing. Or at least, phrased it the wrong way. He stopped walking and turned to face Eldon.

"Esmerelle spent many years in near-isolation, before she encountered us in the High Forest. Since then, she has grown, not physically, but mentally, emotionally, and in confidence. I don't know what happened to her during most of her time in the forest, and I don't know of the circumstances surrounding your parting with her, for she rarely speaks of these things. But at first she was uneasy around people, sometimes scared. She was quiet and humble and seemed loathe to voice her opinion, unless she was healing somebody, in which case she forgot about her unease and her tension and became more forceful. I have seen her grow from a quiet, timid girl, into a brave, fun-loving young woman. She loves to visit the theatre and music halls with Lucas. She can spend hours every day in the great libraries with Belvar, poring over magical tomes, studying everything from herbology to history. She revels in her trips to the shops with Kiree, when they dine and gossip until well after everybody else is asleep. And when she isn't doing these things, she loves nothing more than to work on her potions, to improve her magic and to spend time with her friends.

"If you ask her to stay, she will have none of that. She will have no theatre, no music to light up her life, no trips to the libraries to enrich her knowledge, she will not even have a shop to visit. She has no friends here, and the villagers do not seem to type to make new friends easily. Who will she talk to, other than you, and the boy who is training to become a priest? With whom shall she discuss herbs, and music, and dresses? You would take her from life and shut her away in this village, because you love her? Come with me, I want to show you something."

He turned away from Eldon, who looked shocked and aghast, and walked a few paces to the nearest pine tree, a grand old thing tall enough that he could almost walk beneath its lowest branches. Crouching down, he moved forwards looking for something on the ground. When he found what he sought, he stopped, and waited for Eldon to join him. When the priest stopped beside him, he gestured at the single, small white flower growing out of the ground.

"This," he explained, "is a type of snowdrop flower. The seed lies dormant in the soil, beneath the layers of dead pine needles, and it may lie there for many years. When the time is right, something triggers the growth, and within the space of a single day, this white flower emerges. As you can see, the conditions here are favourable; the tree above protects the flower from the snow, and from the worst of the biting frost. Because of the tree's protection, the flower can survive the winter. But when spring arrives, the thick branches which protected the flower through winter now become its undoing; the tree is greedy, it takes the light for itself, blocking out the ground below. The flower, starved of the sunlight it requires to live, withers and dies."

"It wouldn't happen. Not to Esmerelle. I wouldn't let it." Eldon's voice was confident, but his face and body language betrayed him.

"Then do not give it chance to happen. I like you, as do my friends, but we do not want to see Esmerelle hurt. Make your life with her, but make it away from here. Make it in one of the great cities, or a large town, where she can _be_ a young woman, where she can have friends and visit the theater, where the two of you can dine out and have a true home to return to every night. Do not ask her to stay in Triel. It is not fair to her, and if you loved her as much as you claim, you would see that."

He left the man with the flower and stood upright as he passed beneath the outer edge of the tree's lower branches. Hopefully, Eldon would prove reasonable, though in his experience, humans were far too easily influenced by their feelings and emotions. They lacked an ability to see the bigger picture, to see that sometimes sacrifices had to be made in the short term, in order to bring about long term prosperity. That was how he saw his relationship with Shayla. He had to make sacrifices. He loved her, and she was shaman. Her spiritual journey had to come first. She had to learn to master herself and her surroundings and the spirit world, before she could return to her people. If that meant following her around the realms, he would follow her around the realms. If that meant leaving her when she told him to leave, he would do so. If it meant dying for her, then he would die to let her live.

He just wished she wasn't so stubborn.

This was not the first time she had behaved strangely, but the previous times, it hadn't gone this far. She had never argued with him before. At least, not in public. She had never lost her temper, never chastised him, never forced him to remind her exactly how much he did for her. Deep down, he knew that it wasn't truly her fault. Whenever she communed with the spirits, she became subject to them. They followed her back to her body, leaving echoes of themselves inside her. Sometimes the echoes lasted for hours, sometimes for days, and, once before, for weeks. The spirit echoes were mostly benevolent, requiring nothing more than a little extra reverie to compensate for their effects. But once or twice, the spirits Shayla communed with, which had followed her back to her body and left their imprint on her, had beenn petty, cruel, or violent. Sometimes it was for reasons of vengeance and retribution, a desire for punishment for centuries-old crimes which could now never be punished or forgiven. Sometimes it was for reasons of evil; spirits could be affected by creatures of the lower plains, tainted and twisted by their influence, corrupted into malevolent entities of hatred and madness. No matter the reason, the violent spirits were few and far between, and luckily, none of the others had witnessed Shayla under the influence of them; she had wrested control of herself away from them before they could do any genuine harm. But this time, it was different. He knew it in his bones and his blood; the spirits here must have been too strong for Shayla to handle alone. He would need to take her away from this place as soon as possible. Perhaps the local druids could help him cleanse Shayla's body and soul, help him rid her of the dark forces at work inside her. But first, he had to explain all of this to his friends. He would need their help, because Shayla would probably not come quietly. It was not going to be easy.

There was a sound behind him, and he turned to find Eldon coming out from beneath the tree branches. The man looked as if he had aged ten years in ten minutes, and he shivered with cold. His dark eyes looked tired, devoid of emotion, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. Most likely he had been wrestling with his conscience, and if his bearing was any clue, he had made the right choice. Then, as he watched, Eldon's brows sank into a frown, and his eyes glanced to the horizon.

"It's too early for sunrise," Eldon said.

For a moment, Daeghun was confused. What did sunrise have to do with Esmerelle? Then he saw the reflection in Eldon's eyes; twin arcs of red inside pools of black. He turned, and saw a red glow on the distance, but it could not be the sun, for it came from beneath the hills, not above them. Then, the wind shifted, and he caught the smell of woodsmoke.

"Fire," he said, but Eldon was already off, spring back along their own tracks in the direction whence they came. There was clearly no question about whether he wanted to continue the hunt for Theore. Eldon had already lost his daughter once, and Daeghun doubted he was going to lose her again.

o - o - o - o - o

Esmerelle dove behind the shrine to Malar as a massive armoured bugbear brought its spiked club around in an arc, smashing the top of the shrine. A shower of pebbles rained down upon her, but she bit back the scream that so desperately wanted to escape her lips. She had already screamed, when the largest of the bugbears had beheaded the innkeeper with a single swing of its axe, and since then, the ground had become red with the blood of more than one victim. Mirroring the ground was the palisade wall, a roaring blaze which was far, far beyond the point of being put out. Shayla might have been able to do it, with her magic, had she been here. But she was not here. She was out in the forest, the gods only knew where, completely oblivious to the invasion of Triel.

They had come barely fifteen minutes after Daeghun and Eldon had gone. They had come in the night, under the cover of darkness, shooting the gate guards before they could raise the alarm. They had come with firebrands, to torch the wall, and at first, everything had been panic and confusion. Men, women and children had poured from their homes into the cold night air and thick black smoke. Esme and her friends had been amongst the first to arrive, and Belvar had found the bodies of the guards. He'd called out that Triel was under attack, called for arms, but the villagers had been too busy trying to put out the fires of the burning walls. Armed with nothing but handfuls of snow which they hurled desperately and futilely at the growing inferno, they had closed their ears to Belvar's shouts, and they did not see when the first of the bugbears entered the village under the cloak of the thick smoke.

_"Die!"_ the largest bugbear had called out. _"Hruggek commands you, die!"_ Then it had decapitated the innkeeper before anybody could react. And then the screaming had started.

More rubble and dust fell on Esmerelle, and she knew she had to move. The broken shrine was poor protection, but she didn't know which way to run. The air was darkness and smoke and death, and to stand up straight, to breathe deeply, was to burn your lungs so badly that you might never get up again. She had been caught up in a stampede of villagers, and lost sight of her friends. When she realised that they were being corralled, she had tried to call out, to stop the villagers from running the way they were going, but they had been too terrified to hear. It was all she could do to break away from the throng of people, throwing herself to the ground, out of their path. At the same time, she saw somebody within the crowd fall; a child, she thought, or a very small woman. The figure had screamed as it was trampled to death, and Esmerelle had closed her eyes so she did not have to see. But she could not close her ears, not to the gutteral cries of the bugbears as they shouted in the goblin language, nor to the frantic cries of the villagers as they were hunted and slain, picked off one by one.

"Daddy!" The scream tore through Esmerelle's fear, pulling at something inside her. Ignoring the bugbear hell-bent on destroying both her and the shrine, she pushed herself up and ran as fast as she could towards the source of the cry. Airborne cinders and hot ash blew into her eyes, burning and blistering her skin, but there was nothing she could do about it. Barely able to see, she ran, but then tripped over something which lay on the floor in front of her. There was another scream, and the sound of heavy footsteps. Opening her sore eyes, she saw the blurry outline of a body. Only, where its head should have been, there was nothing, nothing but red liquid pumping out, spraying the ground and spraying her, tainting the air with its metallic tang. She tried to open her mouth, to scream, or breath, or anything, but the blood coated her lips and her tongue, making her want to claw her own tongue out and vomit and scream all at once.

For an instant, time seemed to slow. Everything became sharp and clear. The beating of her own heart echoed inside her ears, and the flow of blood through her veins seemed to burn her skin, just as the drops of blood in her mouth burnt her tongue. For that instant, she was aware, as she had never been aware before. She could see all around her, see what was happening in the village. She saw that Belvar and Duncan were fighting the stream of bugbears still pouring into Triel through the fire-ruined palisade gate. She saw Lucas hiding behind the wall of a house, throwing knives when he had the chance, and conjuring smaller monsters, mostly kobolds and goblins, to distract the bugbears from their her heightened awareness she managed to spot Kiree, dancing from shadow to shadow, crossing the village to look for panicked villagers, leading them to safety when she was able. Infrequently, she saw members of the militia carrying pikes, attacking lone bugbears in force, but they were slow, inefficient. They took too long to kill their foe, and were too slow to move to the next one. She saw small figures, humans, running around, leaderless, stumbling into bugbears as often as each other. The invaders were more organised; they hunted in packs of two or three, and a small cadre surrounded their leader. And the last thing she saw before the awareness left her, was the bugbear who had killed the man beside her towering over her with a double-handed sword in its clawed hands, preparing to do to her what it had done to him.

She rolled, and without thinking, released a bolt of lightning from her hand. It was one of the spells she had prepared as a silent spell ever since she had been separated from her friends on the river-bank, in case anything like that should happen again. Now, the spell saved her life. The bolt tore through the bugbear's body, charging the air around it. Esme felt her own hair try to stand on end as the lightning disappeared, up into the smoke and into the sky beyond.

Somebody was screaming, and for an instant she thought it was her. But her mouth was closed, and full of the taste of blood. Spitting in disgust, she pushed herself to her knees just in time to empty the contents of her stomach on the ground. Her eyes hurt, her throat felt raw, and her mouth burned. Her left arm ached, a dull, throbbing pain caused by tripping over the corpse and landing badly on her side. But in spite of all that, she looked around, for the source of the screaming.

At last she was able to make out the outline of a child. A small, blonde-haired girl, though her hair was more black than blonde thanks to the smoke and ash, sat huddled on the ground with her back to a building's wall, her arms wrapped protectively around her drawn knees. Her brown eyes were wide, fixed on the body of the man, and she screamed constantly, barely stopping long enough to draw breath before screaming again. It would be a beacon to all bugbears nearby, she knew. That and the lightning bolt; no creature could have failed to have seen that.

Rushing forward, she crouched beside the child and ran her hand over the girl's hair. "Shhh," she said, hoping it sounded soothing, instead of frightened. "It's okay. I won't let anything hurt you. Please stop screaming." But the girl wouldn't stop, so with regret, Esme did the only thing she could think of. She cast a Sleep spell, and the child's body went limp as she fell into a world of dreams. Hopefully, wherever her mind was, it would be a better place than Triel.

Knowing that it wouldn't be long before the first of the bugbears descended upon her location, Esme pushed herself to her feet, and glanced at the girl. It was likely that anybody passing, bugbear or otherwise, would think her dead. They would leave her alone, unless they examined her closely. Esme could leave her here, probably safely, and rejoin the fight. There were still other people who might need her help. But... what could she do? She wasn't a warrior, a fighter, a battle-mage. She was a healer, and she could not heal death. Perhaps if she lived through the carnage, her skills might be of some use. But until then, she was only marginally better off than the villagers.

Her decision made, she knelt down and lifted her girl into her arms. It was difficult, because her left arm didn't work properly, but she managed it at last, and then looked around for a safe hiding place. It seemed there was no such thing; flames from the wall had spread quickly to the dry straw and thatch roofs of the houses. Many were burning, and she knew that at the heart of the inferno several streets away was the church of Lathander; she had seen the bugbears torch it during her moment of awareness. With nowhere to go, she walked beside the wall of the nearest building, hoping she was less conspicuous than if she was out in the open. The smoke still choked her and the ashes still burned, but she ignored her pain and walked on, conscious of the child in her arms, the child she needed to protect until somebody could tell her whether she had any family left.

One wall ended and became another. She kept the wall always to her left, to her injured side, but did not know where she was going. Even if she had been clear-headed, she would not have recognised anything around her. Fire-shadows danced throughout the village, the snow was now black and red, and the screams of the living and the dying haunted the air. So it was with a small measure of surprise that she found herself standing against a wall, looking at a single building that was unscathed. Green trees grew around it, and the building itself shimmered with a magical aura around its perimeter. Several bugbears stopped in front of it, sniffed the air, and then passed it by. _They can't see the church of Silvanus,_ she thought, and a shiver of excitement ran through her. _It's hidden from them. It's protected. Safe._

Without thinking, without checking if the area was clear, she left the shadows of the wall and crossed the road to the church. Its door opened as she approached, and she saw dim light from within. Perhaps she wasn't the only one here. Perhaps other survivors had come here, for the protection that the church offered. Without a second thought, she stepped inside.

The church was as she remembered it, albeit darker, and colder than the last time she had been there. She had been expecting to find survivors, perhaps with some emergency provisions such as clean water and rations, maybe with a field hospital to tend to the wounded. Instead, the church was empty, devoid of human life. When she found the source of the light, it came not from candles, as she had originally thought, but from two tall pillars which held no wick and no oil, but had a flame atop them regardless. She dimly recalled Aggie mentioning something about this, but the memory was hazy because the subject had been of little interest to her. _Living Flame, girl. Magically conjured fire that is created from and tied to the energy inside a body. All it takes is a pinch of magic, a few herbs, and the right words. And it's powerful, too. Living Flame can be used to fuel protective magics, such as shields and spheres. The protections feed off the power of the Flame, instead of the power of the wielder. In theory they can go on forever without ever having to be re-cast... at least, until the creator of the Flame dies. Old magic. Powerful magic. But you have to be careful, because once you've brought forth Living Flame, nothing can extinguish it. Nothing except the death of the one who created it._

She left the Flame and found an empty alcove. Perhaps a tree had once stood here, or maybe a carving in honour of Silvanus. Now, though, the alcove was the best hiding place she had, so she crouched down, balancing herself on the balls of her feet as she rearranged her grip on the girl. When she was content that she could hold the girl for as long as necessary, she let herself fall backwards, and she bumped gently to the ground, her back cushioned against the wall by a layer of creeping vines. Pulling the girl towards her chest to keep both of them warm, she wished she had a cloak or a blanket. But beggers could not be choosers. For now, she was safe. For now, she was alive. She would worry about everything else later.

o - o - o - o - o

Esme dreamt. She dreamt that she was sitting in the church of Silvanus in Triel clutching a child to her chest, whilst all around her the village burned and people died. She dreamt that as the people died, before they passed on, they came to her, and told her things. They wanted her to pass on messages to loved ones. Fathers wanted her to tell their wives and children to be strong. Mothers wanted her to tell their young ones to be brave. Children wanted her to tell their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters that they felt no pain, that they were now at peace. It was a terrible dream, dark and dire, but at the same time, it was comforting. Most people did not get to say goodbye. Most people did not get a chance for a few final words. Half of Triel's population was massacred in one hour, and by the end of that hour, Esme knew every name and every face, of every man, woman and child who had died. That was what she dreamed. It was just a dream.

She opened her eyes as somebody called her name over and over again. The warm, sleeping child was lifted from her arms and taken away. She wanted to protest, but her mouth didn't want to work. She wanted to see, but her eyes hurt too much. She was pulled to her feet and held still by strong hands, but she did not know what was happening. Then, a cold chill swept over her, as healing magic washed away her aches and pains and burns and bruises, as it washed away everything that was physically wrong with her including the blisters on her hands from her earlier work in the vegetable patch. But it could not wash away the sound or the smell of death, or the taste of blood in her mouth. It could not wash away the memory of seeing people slaughtered like animals, with no care or regard for dignity or life.

A familiar scent of soap filled her nostrils and a pair of strong arms encircled her. The tears, held back for an eternity, finally came, and she wept in Eldon's embrace. His hands gently stroked her hair, soothing her once more.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she whimpered. "I was so afraid you'd be one of the ones to visit me."

"I don't understand," he said, "but it doesn't matter. I promised I would come back, and now I'm here."

"This place is remarkable," said a voice from behind Eldon, and she heard the surprise and the awe as Lucas spoke. "The only building untouched by the carnage. I wonder why this place was spared, whilst the church of Lathander was completely gutted."

"It's Living Flame," she told him, and gestured at the twin fires. Lucas hobbled over to examine the flames.

"Yes, yes, I should have gussed. When we saw the shield around this place, we thought that the priest... Nathaniel?.. was here. But this makes more sense. What better way to ensure the safety of your building whilst you're away that with a protective shield powered by Eternal Fire?" He turned abruptly to address Eldon. "We should make this our headquarters."

"Headquarters?" Esme asked. She gently removed herself from Eldon's arms and wiped at her eyes. "What's going on?"

"The clean up operation," Belvar said. He strode into the church covered head to toe in blood, and the red liquid even dripped from his axe. "We count at least a third of the villagers confirmed dead. A great many more missing."

"How can they be missing?"

"When the bugbears attacked," Lucas explained, "a lot of people made a run for the walls. Some went to a familiar place, their orchards, and hid in the trees. More ran into the forest, possibly hoping to put some distance between themselves and the monsters. We've got Kiree, Daeghun and Duncan out there now, tracking people down and leading them back, and a few are starting to trickle back on their own, but the fires are still raging. I doubt the majority will return whilst Triel burns. I think we may have to wait for dawn, when people can see for themselves that the danger has passed."

"What's wrong with the lass?" Belvar asked, gesturing to the girl who had been lain to one side and covered by Eldon's cloak.

"I had to put her to sleep. She was screaming."

"You saved her life," Eldon said softly.

"One life. One. I couldn't save her father. I don't even know if she's got any family. The bugbears attacked and I panicked. I got caught up in the villagers' stampede, and when I finally managed to get away, I ran. I ran because I was scared and weak."

"We'll go and get started," said Lucas to Eldon, ushering Belvar towards the door. "I'll leave this to you. Sadly, I believe you know what has to be done here."

Eldon nodded. Then, when Lucas and Belvar left, Esme jumped in before Eldon could talk. "What did he mean by that? What has to be done here?"

He hesitated before answering. "It's something I'll need your help with. We need to set up a triage. We'll have to split the room in half. One side for minor wounds and recoveries, the other for serious injuries. When people come here, or are brought here, we have to assess them, and rank the severity of their condition. Anybody who can walk in on their own or can be treated without magic goes to one side. Anybody who has to be carried in goes to the other side. You and I will tend to the severe injuries. Your friends, and any villagers still capable of obeying basic instructions, will deal with the minor injuries and the people in shock. And we'll need to use the back room as a morgue." She closed her eyes and shivered, and he continued. "For the people that we can't save. And for those already dead. We'll need to identify bodies. I... ah... the bugbears' favoured method of killing seems to be decapitation. You won't be dealing with that, though. Lucas and I will see to the bodies."

Closing her eyes, she let her forehead rest against his shoulder. The events of the night barely seemed real, more like some terrible nightmare that she might awake from, if only she concentrated hard enough. But no amount of mental focus could erase the past few hours of her life. The memories of the nightmare would stay with her forever. All she could do now was work hard to ensure she saved as many people as possible.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, lifting her head to look at the man she loved. Only then did she truly see his skin, blackened with ash, and the weapon by his feet which dripped with blood. He must have returned as soon as he realised what was happening in the village. Did that mean he hadn't found Theore?

"Lucas, Belvar and I are going to scour the village... what's left of it... for usable supplies. I'd like you to stay here and move the chairs in this room to each side, by the walls. They'll need to function as beds. When we are able to bring back supplies, you'll need to make bandages, slings and padding."

"I can make healing potions," she offered, thinking of the herbs in the arboretum. "You'll need to fetch me a knife and some empty beakers or flasks. Oh, and some water, and something to-"

He silenced her with a soft kiss. "I know what's needed," he assured her. "I'll be back shortly with what you require." He disappeared from the church, striding out into the night, and apart from the young girl who slept silently on the floor, Esme was alone.

o - o - o - o - o

Despite the poor state of the village, Lucas, Eldon and Belvar were able to find clean sheets, which Esmerelle used to cover the chairs she had moved within the church's hall, and she tore up the remainder to be used as bandages, slings and tourniquets. Clean water was harder to come by, because the well had been contaminated with falling ash and blood, but then Lucas suggested going a short way up-wind of the village and bringing back pans of snow, which Esme melted, boiled and set aside for use. From the arboretum she picked the herbs she would need to make healing potions. Then she waited.

She did not have to wait long. The first two people were uninjured but in shock. She sat them by one of the impromptu fires she had made, and gave each of them a small cup of warm water. Then she handed them some of the vegetables and edible herbs from Nathaniel's arboretum, and told them to chop them and prepare soup or broth. At first, the people had been so surprised that she expected them to work that it shocked them right out of their shock. But she told them, quite firmly, that only the injured or the productive could stay in the church, and that she was _not_ going to cook for them, as well as treat injuries. If they wanted to eat, she said, they would have to feed themselves. Or they would starve.

A group of six came in next, led by Tiny. It seemed the young man had been able to keep his head whilst others lost theirs - sometimes literally - and had gathered the few he could and hidden with them in the orchards. One of the group was unconscious, and Esme instructed his companions to put him on one of the bed at the 'emergency' side of the room. Then she told the rest to have a cup of water and help the first couple with soup, before grabbing Tiny and ordering him to help her treat casualties despite his protests that he had never done this sort of thing before. She merely told him that the best way to learn was through experience, and he could not turn his back on those in need simply because he was afraid. Priests of Lathander were better than that.

From time to time, Lucas and Eldon would carry a body through the hospital, wrapped in a sheet or a blanket or simply covered by a towel. Esme tried not to watch them as they made their way to the morgue, but it was difficult. Though most of her focus was on healing the injured, she could not help but be aware of the dead. In her dream, they had come to her, and she felt she owed them something. When he wasn't carrying the dead, Eldon stopped to help her with the worst of the injured survivors, sending Lucas back outside to hunt for supplies with Belvar. His company was a comfort, but not something she couldn't function without; when she had a patient to tend to, that person, and their well-being, became the most important thing in the world, and she was more than qualified to deal with serious injuries. At least, until her spells began to run out.

Daeghun, Duncan and Kiree managed to recover a large number of survivors from the forest, most of them unharmed or with only superficial injuries. Before too long, Esme had no shortage of helpers to boil water, shred blankets and prepare soup. Those whom she judged most competent she taught to brew healing potions, and left them to it under the watchful eye of Tiny. There was no shortage of healing herbs, but what the people most lacked was food. Their grain, so hastily delivered from Scornubel, had been destroyed in the fire, and Lucas, Belvar and Eldon had only managed to locate small caches of food which had been stored by families in cold-cellars.

At last there was a lull in activity. Duncan, Kiree and Daeghun returned from the forest, and Lucas, Belvar and Eldon came into the church from the village. They were all cold, tired and haunted by what they had seen. With no serious casualties to attend to, Esme pestered them all into sitting by one of the fires, and brought everybody a drink of warm water, to help take the chill from their bodies.

"A few have fled far into the forest," Daeghun was telling the group as Esme returned with a cup of water for herself. "Some may return, but I fear they will be hunted down by any remaining bugbears, or by kobolds or starving wolves. This is not a good time to be alone in the forest."

"We've scoured almost a third of the village," Lucas informed them, "but it is slow work. Many of the buildings have been made unsafe, too damaged by fire for us to enter. There may still be survivors trapped, and there may be valuable supplies that we can salvage. I know you'd be happier tracking down those folks who ran, but we could really use your help here in the village." Daeghun nodded slowly in confirmation. His green eyes looked even more empty than usual.

"We did find three of the militia," Eldon added. "They were armed, and uninjured, but hiding in a cellar. I told them to stand guard outside this church, just in case the bugbears try anything else tonight, but I think we've seen the last of the beasts for now."

"I wonder what made them attack," Kiree mused. Her blonde hair had turned ash-grey, and her face was a mask of smeared black on pink skin. She seemed to have recovered the shuriken she had thrown in the battle, and now took one out and flipped it over her knuckles, passing it from finger to finger. A trick she had taught Lucas, although the old bard claimed it was the other way around.

"Most likely they saw the knights leave," Belvar said, "and saw Daeghun and Eldon leave. Goblins are crafty creatures, but they have a healthy respect for magic and religion. They probably saw Nathaniel and Eldon as the protectors of the village. Their presence here has most likely discouraged them from attacking before now. But devoid of its protectors, and with knights moving away from the place on some other mission, Triel made an easy target."

"Perhaps the Malarite priests tipped them off," said Eldon, scowling. "Perhaps Theore told them the village was defenceless." Esme reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it. It pained her that he was so obsessed with Theore and the Malarites. Even now he could not relinquish his hatred of them.

"Does it matter why?" Duncan asked. He, too, was covered in blood and ash, but he had come through the battle unhurt. Though he was sometimes prone to rash action, he was a good fighter, more than skilled enough to handle bugbears. "The real question is, what are we going to do now? It's mid-winter. These people have no food. They have no homes and half of their people are dead. The best thing to do would be to evacuate them to Scornubel or Elturel. But something tells me the villagers aren't going to go quietly."

All eyes turned to Eldon, and he shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I'll have to speak to the villagers who are left, and they'll have to decide what they want to do. I can't make that decision for them. All I can do is help."

The door of the church opened, and in came Shayla, Nathaniel, Sir Ferdinand, and four of the other priests. Each of them looked cold, and their clothes were blood-spattered, but they were otherwise clean, their faces and clothes unsullied by the ash which had coated everybody within the village. The very sight of them made Esme angry. Shayla and the knights had set off only a few minutes before Eldon and Daeghun. They couldn't have been much further away when they noticed Triel burning.

"We saw the bugbear bodies inside the palisade," Shayla said, stepping forward. Her face was pale, the pupils of her eyes wide. "What can I do?"

"Don't you think you've done enough already?" someone said, and Esme was surprised to find it was herself speaking. She stood up, taking a step away from the fire. She was so angry at Shayla that she couldn't even _feel_ the anger. All she felt was emptiness.

"I don't understand," Shayla said.

"This. All of it. It's your fault. Daeghun asked you not to go. If you'd been here, you could have put the fire out. The bugbears wouldn't have been able to get in. The villagers would have been better prepared. And if you'd come back - all of you - as Daeghun and Eldon did, after the fire had started, we wouldn't have a room full of dead bodies right now."

"That's preposterous!" Shayla said angrily. "Surely you don't think that I'm the one to blame for this? That one person could have made so much of a difference to the outcome of this tragedy? Tell her, Lucas."

The old man looked at the elf for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Shayla. I can't. She's right. If you hadn't gone, neither would the knights. They would have been here, and it's highly probably that they would have been a suitable deterrant to the bugbears. This entire attack might never have happened, had you listened to Daeghun."

There was movement by the fire, and Daeghun stood up, stringing his bow once more.

"Daeghun," Shayla said, taking a step forward. Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Where are you going?"

"Back into the forest," he said. His voice was, as always, expressionless. "To continue the search for survivors."

"I'll go with you," Duncan said. And surprisingly, Daeghun did not object. The younger brother ran a cloth over his sword then sheathed it, and followed Daeghun out of the church.

Esme turned back to the fire, taking her seat next to Eldon as she picked up his hand and clasped it in hers. She didn't look up at the sound of Shayla and the knights leaving room. Right now, she didn't want to look at her friend. Right now, she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive her for letting this happen.


End file.
